Fox Fire
by WoodLily
Summary: "My prey had become beautiful to me. The pain of that realization stung worse than venom ever could." Edward's "Twilight". Canon-compliant AU after 'The Meadow'. Plot detours/missing moments. The slow burn begins with the flight to Alaska. *ON HIATUS SUMMER 2013 so I can enjoy the great outdoors and write non-fiction for my real life. Returning this autumn!*
1. Flight

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended,  
only my admiration.**

**Many thanks to my fabulous betas: Lezlee, Jules, and kitty_cullen. Thanks also to EdwardsDJ, an insightful and savvy reviewer.**

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**A/N:** This story was born before I knew about _Midnight Sun._ I'd already written several chapters before I found a link to the "First Sight" character development on Stephenie Meyer's website. Had I scrolled up the page, I would have seen the post about the leaked draft and probably abandoned this project entirely. I'm very glad that I didn't. The more that Edward develops his unique voice, the more I enjoy communing with him. I still haven't read the rest of _Midnight Sun_, and nor do I plan to until I'm finished writing this.

The plot follows canon very closely until the Meadow chapters. Some of the early chapters contain a lot of canon dialogue-less so as the story progresses. The shift to AU is deliberately subtle. I was less than enamored with the plot of _Twilight_ after Bella visited Edward's house, so I've taken artistic license with the second half of the book..

My intent is to re-work and post a version of the "First Sight"-equivalent chapter of _Fox Fire_ that I shelved, including some scenes with the Cullens that take place just prior Bella's arrival in Forks.

For now, I'm delighted to have rediscovered a love for writing that I thought I'd lost, and I thank Edward for bringing it back.

_We begin with the flight to Alaska . . ._

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**Playlists: **I can't write without listening to music. Sometimes it inspires the prose, other times a piece just fits the words. There are three playlists for this story: _Fox Fire _(which spans the entire story arc)_, Lost Weekend _(for chapter 9), and _Together Alone _(for chapters 19 & 20). They're all on Grooveshark if you're inclined to follow them: grooveshark # / user / woodlily / 8617551 / playlists ?src=5.

**Playlist Picks for _Flight_:**  
Map of the Problematique – Muse  
Street Spirit (Fade Out) – Radiohead

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_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,_  
_or the arrow of carnations that propagate fire._  
_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_  
_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_SONNET XVII ~ PABLO NERUDA_

0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

**FLIGHT**

Carlisle was waiting for me in his office at the hospital, as he'd promised in response to my page.

He was late for surgery but neither his voice nor his thoughts betrayed the slightest impatience as he ushered me inside. He knew from my message that something was terribly wrong.

As I gave my disjointed narration of what I'd been through that afternoon, the pity in his eyes grew almost unbearable. And he said everything I'd expected him to:

_You don't have to go back to the school, we can work something out. Let us help you._

It was the very last thing I wanted to hear.

"I have to leave."

I realized I'd already made the decision.

There was no other solution. Her blood—just thinking about made me crave it. Conjured the aroma. The _taste_. I knew what it would taste like and I _wanted_ it. How could I stop myself from hunting her down? What violence might I perpetrate on that innocent girl if I stayed?

Ancient grief and regret washed to the surface of Carlisle's mind—the same grief I'd caused when I'd left him before, all those years ago—and I couldn't bear it.

"Please," I could only beg. "Let me go."

"Go where?" he asked aloud, then continued appeasing me silently. As if anyone else would've been listening anyway.

_ It doesn't matter. We'll come with you, if that's what you want. We'll get through this as a family. _

I couldn't ask them to give up their lives for me—it would have been the height of selfishness. I didn't need the additional burden of that guilt. No, what I needed was clarity of thought, and for that I had to get away. Somewhere. Anywhere.

I needed to be alone.

In the end, he knew better than to argue with me. In fact, it was masterful the way he convinced me that the decision to get out of Forks for a while was actually my own. His car had a full tank of gas so he let me borrow it. It didn't occur to me until later that he had done so to give me incentive to return. At that moment, I was grateful for his promise to break the news of my departure to Esme himself. I would not have had the strength to leave in the face of her grief.

I don't remember much about the drive north. I just knew that I couldn't slow down and I couldn't stop. I didn't want to think, just to get as far away as possible from danger, from evil. From what Bella Swan had awoken in me. I wanted the silence and the endless blackness to numb me but from the depths of the pine forest her dark eyes stared back at me, searing into my soul.

_What are you? _they seemed to ask.

_A monster._ My only response.

I just kept driving, and driving. By morning, I found myself at the Alaskan border.

I knew now where I was going.

Home. Sanctuary. Denali.

When I passed through the park gates it was late afternoon and the jagged saw tooth peaks were backlit by a fading winter sun. How I used to take that vista for granted! My perfect recall had not done it justice; it was even more stunning than I'd remembered. But I couldn't marvel at the beauty. With another hour or so left to travel, and a highway that hadn't been ploughed for weeks, I welcomed the opportunity to give my attention to the road. It took my mind off things.

It was necessary to leave the car at a ranger station a few miles out; in winter the settlement was only accessible by four-wheel drive or snowmobile. Neither snow nor cold were considerations for me, but it was annoying that I hadn't thought to bring decent footwear.

I realized just how much I'd missed the place as I rounded the switchback cresting a lip of terminal moraine, and caught my first view of the gracious chalets below. Had it really only been two years? The garage-like service buildings had been expanded in our absence. The weather station too, was more extensive. It was housed in its own building now, and the new satellite dish was much larger than its predecessor.

My three cousins―sisters in name only, like my siblings and I―along with their companions, Carmen and Eleazar, had made their home here for well over a century. Thanks to Eleazar's recent connections with the University of Alaska, they continued to reside in this national park, undisturbed, under the auspices of a weather monitoring station. High speed Internet allowed the entire project to be accessed remotely, though the scientists who made the infrequent visits for equipment repairs were never in any danger. Indeed, many of the males had become extremely fond of Tanya, Kate and Irina.

The first time my father brought me to meet this coven of like-minded vampires I was a skittish newling, only a year into my new life, and still learning to navigate this strange new existence. There were times during that first year that I truly felt the sights, the sounds, and the overwhelming, unceasing thirst for human blood would drive me mad.

From my father and my cousins, I learned that I wasn't doomed to an eternal half-life feeding on humans. I embraced their moral alternative, enjoying, even excelling at the hunt. I strove to emulate them, to make them proud of me. But the monster inside was never silenced, only kept at bay. How many times had I disappointed my father? One hundred and eight, to be precise. Their faces and names were as clear to me now as they ever were. I had almost added twenty more names to that list of failures yesterday.

We'd returned to the residence we kept here many times over the decades. Carlisle built it before he met my 'mother', but it was she who turned the large house into a home, one that grew incrementally larger as my other siblings and their mates were welcomed into the fold.

Food was plentiful: a migrating buffet of big game and big predators. We had the company of kindred spirits, and the freedom to come and go as we pleased without fear of being seen. You cannot imagine the luxury of being able to go out in the sunlight―to feel it warm your skin―after spending so many years in twilight. We had been sybarites here.

But a dozen sparkly people roaming the tundra couldn't remain incognito forever, nor could two covens of vampires occupy one territory without friction. When the hordes of summer tourists discovered the feeding habits of the local grizzlies, we knew it was time to move on.

We'd parted from my cousins with regret and, to be honest, some relief. There'd been awkwardness between Tanya and I over the years. She'd become nearly as adept as Carlisle about hiding her thoughts around me so her objections to my departure for Washington were unexpected, and a little embarrassing. Nevertheless, she remained a good friend. I trusted she'd understand I was looking for peace while I was here.

The perimeter's bear alarm announced my arrival―I deliberately tripped it―and Tanya's thoughts were immediately clear and close by. I could sense no other vampires in the compound, but she'd been expecting me.

It only took moments for her shadow to emerge from the swirling snow, strawberry blonde hair whipping about her face and white skin shimmering in the dying rays of afternoon sunlight. Eternally beautiful and forever twenty-five, she was old enough to have seen the passing of nearly two millennia. After all this time, she still scared the hell out of me.

She was delighted to see me, but deliberately kept her thoughts low-key. She never took my ability lightly.

"My dear, it _has_ been too long!" She planted her customary kisses on both sides of my face, and then pushed me away a little, her gaze raking me up and down. I could barely return it. "You look like hell, Edward," she declared.

I shrugged. "Sorry I didn't call ahead. This trip was kind of spontaneous. The rain . . . gets a bit much this time of year."

"And you were looking for some sun." To her credit, she went along with my sham. "You would like to stay for a while? Yes?"

Her accent was the one thing about her that didn't totally intimidate me. It always became more pronounced when she was excited, making her sound a bit like a character from a Boris Karloff movie.

She smiled broadly and took me by the arm. "Oh, you _must_! Irina's away; you can use her rooms. Everyone will be _so_ pleased to see you. Carmen and Eleazar will be back from Anchorage later tonight but Kate's here now. She, uh, has a new boyfriend, did you know that?"

"Another one?"

She smirked. "Some miner she picked up in the Yukon. I can't stand him; you'll see why. Just don't say anything if you meet him, all right?"

I nodded, not really paying attention to her chatter.

_He really does look awful. I wonder what's wrong. _"So, where is this road trip taking you?"

"What? Oh. Nahanni."

"That's a long way," she said, eyeing the very obvious fact that I carried no luggage. She made no further comment, and her stride picked up to match pace with her speech. "You _will_ hunt with us tonight, won't you? Are you up for some climbing?"

"That sounds good."

"Thought you'd like that." She indicated towards one of the chalets with a jut of her chin. "If we'd known you were coming, we'd have got your old place ready for you. I could, if you like

"No, there's no point. I'm not staying." I felt badly, seeing her take a step back at my brusque tone of voice.

"I mean, I'm not staying long," I muttered. "Sorry."

"Don't be silly, pet. You're always welcome, you know that."

_I've not seen him like this since_- her thoughts raced -_Not again, please. I only made it worse for him before . . . _

"Forks is treating you well?" she asked aloud, saving me from responding to her thoughts.

"For the most part. Carlisle's practicing at the hospital, Esme's joined the country club, and the rest of us have gone back to high school."

"High school!" She snorted. "You're not going through that ridiculous charade again? What is this―the fourth time?"

"Fifth."

She rolled her eyes. "Such a waste . . . Is everyone well?"

"Oh, yes. They all send their regards," I fibbed.

_They don't even know where he is, do they?_ "How thoughtful. Might Carlisle and Esme visit soon, do you think?"

"They've been talking about it. You never know."

Her chatter had taken us all the way to the porch of her gracious home, but there were still dozens of questions flying through her quick mind. She knew better than to voice any of them just yet.

We left our wet footwear in the foyer, and I was immediately grateful for the heat billowing from the massive fireplace in the great room. She paused at the foot of the staircase to hug me once more.

"It really _is_ good to see you, Edward."

"It's good to see you, too." I meant it.

"Go get cleaned up. We'll be waiting for you."

* * *

Vast curtains of purple and green pulsated in the sky above the Ruth River gorge. The Aurora Borealis, the Spirit Dance, Fox Fire―whatever you chose to call it―was glorious. I'd been sitting on this ridge watching the light show for hours. I felt like I was waking up.

This was my third day in Alaska. The hunt that first night, and subsequent hikes on my own in the clear, frigid air had helped to pull me out of my funk. I could think clearly now. And clearly I'd been doing too much thinking. As usual, it wasn't helping.

The overpowering thirst and the ensuing panic had faded, trailing the lingering emotions of a violent nightmare in their wake. The monster that had so meticulously planned Bella's death had been left behind, yet I could still conjure her scent in my head without even thinking about it. It had grabbed hold of me on some fundamental level. It should have been a relief that I no longer wanted to devour her. But this new fixation: I wanted that scent again; I _needed_ it. There was no rationality about what I felt. And, if I couldn't rationalize it, how could I control it?

Like Tanya, the others quickly realized that something was very wrong with me. Carmen noticed right away how withdrawn I was. She had tried to draw me out during the gathering around after the hunt, but I'd avoided her solicitous advances. I'd have to apologize to her for being so rude. Still, if I stuck around much longer, a grilling would be unavoidable. I knew that I should probably leave soon.

But where would I go? The idea of repeating those rootless, soulless years of depravity during the Depression was not an option. The very idea sickened me. It had taken me just as many years to come back to myself.

And I so very much missed my family. Esme, especially, would be devastated. I could well imagine her fears for the future as she recalled waiting fruitlessly for me to come home during that same dark period of my life. I hated upsetting her. I wanted to call and reassure her that I was all right, but I couldn't bear listening to her beg me to come home.

A flash of anger resurfaced―I had allowed that stupid human girl to drive me away! How could I? Just as quickly, I realized that it was myself I was angry with. For nearly three days, I'd avoided thinking about what might happen when I returned . . . If I returned . . .

_Thunk!_

I let the first snowball hit me on the side of the head. I ducked the others that followed in quick succession. It appeared that the aforementioned grilling was to happen sooner, rather than later. I resigned myself to it.

"Hah! You weren't paying attention." Tanya laughed, jumping onto the precipice beside me. She was as subtle as an axe in the head.

"Look at you, all covered in snow. Trying to petrify yourself?" She tossed me a jacket. "Here. I see you didn't exactly dress for the weather."

"Thanks." I put it on to be polite.

She was uncharacteristically nervous; she still didn't know where to start.

"Do you remember when you and Jasper started the avalanche on that ridge over there?" she asked. "The one that buried Emmett? When he finally dug himself out, I thought he was going to rip your arms off."

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who put us up to it."

"Did he ever get his revenge?"

"Yes. I still have the scars."

"And remember the musk-ox stampede?"

"Mm-hm."

"How I've missed my little brothers." Her teeth glinted in the icy light as she beamed, reminiscing. "Those were good times."

"The best. You were a bad influence on me, though."

"I was just trying to get you to notice me. I _still_ wonder what a girl has to do to get noticed by you."

_Funny you should ask that . . . _

She sat down very close to me. Too close. I hugged my knees tighter.

"You never have to do anything. You know that."

"Not usually." She sighed. Modesty wasn't one of her virtues, either. "Except when it comes to you. I hate you, Edward." She pouted. "You don't care about me at all."

I couldn't have this conversation with her again. Not now. I glanced over to see if I had room to shuffle away but she had effectively pinned me. There was only a fifty metre drop to the sharp rocks below.

"Tanya, you can have anyone you want."

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it, pet? There's no challenge in it."

I hated her nickname for me, the same one she gave to all her conquests. I hated it because of her assumption that sooner or later I'd be one of them.

"You like the chase better than the victory, anyway," I reminded her.

"True . . . But, I have to admit that when you came back, I hoped that it was because you had changed your mind."

"I don't suppose there's any chance of that, is there?" she persisted, her golden eyes mesmerizing, her voice modulating to the pleading playful pitch that she had used to reel in her prey for a millennia. She reached to smooth one of my cowlicks down.

"You know there's not."

I dodged, shifting my gaze back to the horizon. The disappointment stung her as she recalled, word for word, our last conversation before I moved to Forks. She hated it when she didn't get her own way, but she knew I was as stubborn as she was.

"Of course not," she agreed. _Still so upstanding and moral_. _And where has that got you, my dear?_

She leaped gracefully to an adjoining ledge. She'd been dying to let fly for days―_years_! I deserved it. I should never have let her think that there was anything between us beyond friendship. I hadn't meant to; I just wasn't very good at these things.

As if in response to my thoughts, her face cleared, and she sighed. "I don't want to fight with you, Edward. You're too good a friend to me."

"No, it's my fault. I'm probably defective in some way." _And, I'm not a good friend to anybody. _

She laughed, though I hadn't meant to amuse her. "It's nobody's fault. I just don't like dealing with _this_"- she gestured into the air between us -"It doesn't do my ego much good, you know, admitting there might actually have been one that got away."

I knew her better than to assume she would ever admit to _that_.

"But, that's not the point right now," she continued. "You're in trouble, aren't you?"

"No. I told you; I'm taking a road trip."

"Uh-uh. You can do better than that. What's really got you hiding out here, sulking on a mountain top?"

"I'm not hiding."

"You're definitely sulking."

"I don't want to talk about it," I insisted.

"I can see that. Must be something bad, then."

"No. It's . . . stupid . . . "

"Stupid? Even better! I'm listening." She sat down beside me again, cross-legged, in the snow.

"I don't want you to listen."

"You might feel better if you talk about it."

I shook my head. She just glared at me stubbornly. She wasn't going away.

"If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

"I'm not promising anything." She smiled, showing her teeth.

She was infuriatingly nosey. Worse than Alice. I should have known not to come here.

"I won't tell the others. I'll promise you that much."

Once I started, it came out in a rush. The only part I left out was the fact that I couldn't read the girl's mind. I wasn't prepared to admit that weakness to anyone yet.

"That's _it_?" she asked at the end, sounding more disappointed than anything else.

"What do you mean? I came _this_ close to killing everyone in that room. I almost ruined everything. You, of all people, should appreciate that."

"But you didn't."

"It doesn't matter. The intention was there."

"Yes, it does matter. That girl―and the rest of them―they're alive right now, aren't they? You did the right thing."

"I ran away." I snorted.

"You should give yourself more credit. You have more self-control than anyone I know."

Despite her double-entendre, she was earnest; I knew that. But this life was effortless for her in a way that it never had been for me. She and her sisters moved so easily between the human and immortal worlds.

Like Carlisle, their own mother had discovered how to live without subsisting on human blood on her own, and she'd set them a good example. She'd been a remarkably compassionate woman, considering the violent times in which she'd lived. But her compassion became her undoing, and the story of her death still sent shivers down my spine. It was little wonder the sisters so rarely spoke of her. No one deserved an end like that, no matter what the reason.

We watched the last of the auroras flicker and recede. The Milky Way emerged, a pulsating bed of light taking the foreground. You never saw the stars that way in Forks―they seemed so alive here.

"What are you going to do?" she asked after a while.

"I don't know."

"I wish I could help you. But, I can't say I've ever experienced anything like this."

"Never?"

"Never in all my years." She chuckled. "Sometimes I forget how very young you still are. It must be very hard for you, this life."

Just like that, I was the little brother again. That both annoyed and relieved me. I wondered how long it would last.

"I was doing just fine until the other day," I replied, ruefully.

She became lost in thought. "There have been times when the scent has been more enticing than others," she eventually acknowledged. "But never with the intensity that you've described. Neither with human nor vampire."

The fact was, before the pity and guilt they felt for their victims moved them to abstain from human blood, my Denali cousins had been man-eaters in the most literal sense of the word. They were the very source behind the myth of the _succubus_.

"My experiences with humans have been satisfying, but also . . . limiting. No matter how much you love them, no matter how brilliant the mind, how passionate the soul, you can't forget their _fragility_." She picked up a pebble, pulverizing it to dust between her fingers. "And then, of course, they die . . ." _And you're alone . . . _

"I think we're speaking at cross-purposes now, Tanya." I scoffed, though I shivered at the images that resurfaced in my memory. Beneath the violence lurked a disturbing sensuality that frightened me.

She shrugged. "Then maybe it's something else. You've denied your instincts for a long time. Maybe it _is_ a resurgence of the thirst. Why don't you talk to Eleazar? He's very wise. He . . . helped you before."

How well I remembered what Eleazar had done for me. I could never begin to repay the debt I owed him, and the last thing I desired was to divulge that his faith in my so-called humanity was misplaced. I was ashamed enough about what I'd already let Tanya extricate from me. Only with hindsight did I come to realize that he was exactly the person to whom I should have unburdened myself.

"No, I think I need to work through this on my own."

She pondered for another moment. When she looked back at me her face was tender.

"We all fight it, you know. Even me, after all this time. We aren't all lucky enough to have a loving family like yours, though." She jumped up and brushed the accumulated snow off herself.

"Look: you're welcome to stay as long as you want. But I think Carlisle probably wants his car back soon." She grinned, impishly. "I'm sure that driving your Volkswagen must cramp his style."

"Volvo." I corrected her, smiling for the first time in days. I didn't flinch when she reached to brush the cowlick down this time.

"I think you know what to do. Whatever it is, just make sure you come say goodbye before you leave, okay?"

She left no draft behind her as she darted into the falling snow.

_Just make a decision, Edward. Flip a coin, whatever. You can't stay here._

I weighed the facts. Removing myself from a dangerous situation had been the right thing to do; I knew that. But it had been weak to run away―I knew that, too. Yes, I had run to protect my family from being implicated if I made the wrong choice―_oh, stop the psychobabble!_―if I killed that girl.

I had run because I was afraid of appearing weak. That clean record that I was so proud of―no murders in seven decades―it meant nothing. How arrogant I'd been! When it came down to it, I was afraid of asking for help. There was another, deeper reason for my flight that I could not articulate then. It percolated in the recesses of my consciousness, only becoming clear with the passage of time.

There was no 'aha' moment for me. In the end, I made my decision because I was sick of myself. Absolutely. I couldn't stand myself a moment longer.

Tanya was right. I did know what to do.

It was necessary to face this. I'd dealt with temptation before, not of this magnitude―not even close―but it wasn't Bella Swan's fault that hers was the most horrifyingly appealing scent I'd ever breathed in my life. I didn't have to let it under my skin. I didn't have to let it keep me away from my home and the family that I loved. The thirst need not control me.

Everyone was at home, waiting. I could hear snippets of thoughts and conversations as I turned off the highway onto the gravel drive. Alice was in a tizzy.

_Quick, Jazz, he's almost here! He'll need you._

When I got to the house, Esme was waiting on the porch, alone.

I couldn't meet her eyes.

It was a good thing no one else heard the reprimand she gave me because by the time she'd finished, I felt smaller than Alice.

I just stood there and took it, knowing I deserved every word.

When she finished, she hugged me as if she'd never let go.

"Never, _ever_ do that again," she commanded, releasing me at last. Tenderly, she reached up to smooth the hair on my forehead.

When she pushed me back gently and turned to now open front door, Jasper stood on the top step. I could feel him analyzing the atmosphere, judging the emotions of everyone in the home now that I was back. Our family was whole again. Complete. But for how long?

"You were missed, brother," he said, finally. Satisfied by his appraisal, he gave me an one-armed hug.

"We should talk."


	2. Perception

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration. **

**Jasper's quip is probably copyright of Disney/Pixar, so I'd better acknowledge that, too.**

**Many, many thanks to Jules and kitty_cullen at Project Team Beta.**

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

La Musica Notturna di Madrid (Passacalle) – Luigi Boccherini  
Children's Corner IV: The Snow is Dancing – Claude Debussy  
Temptation – New Order

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**PERCEPTION**

_Oh, you've got green eyes  
Oh, you've got blue eyes  
Oh, you've got grey eyes  
And I've never seen anyone quite like you before  
No, I've never met anyone quite like you before… ~ Temptation_

"So, what's the verdict?" Rosalie wanted to know. She stood there with her hands on her hips. "Are we going to school today?" she persisted when I didn't answer right away.

"You could have knocked," I told her, not looking up from my book.

She indicated her entry point, the obviously open door to my forest escape, with a dramatic flourish.

"Well?" she insisted.

"I don't know about you, but _I'm_ going. And, if you're not ready in ten minutes, you can drive yourself."

"I was just showing some sisterly concern!" she sulked.

With good reason, I took Rosalie's concern with more than a few grains of salt. Empathy was not a great strength of hers; she was here because she felt insecure. I'd been expecting one of them to test the emotional waters with me this morning—I'd listened to their speculations, voiced and unvoiced, all weekend. _Will he go back? Will he be able to resist? Are we going to have to move again?_

"Ten minutes," I repeated.

"Touchy!" she scolded, flouncing out the way she'd come. _It's always about him and his tantrums . . . _her petulant thought whispered in her wake.

I'd been ready for some time, but I needed to center myself. Here and now, buffered by the support of my family, I knew I was strong enough to cope. I'd taken precautions, hunting every night since my return. There was no reason why I wouldn't be able to control myself in Bella's presence today.

I was certain that thirst had been the problem. In the weeks prior to her arrival, I'd let myself go too long between feedings; that was why I'd fallen prey to her powerfully delicious scent. I wouldn't let that happen again.

If only the discussion with Jasper during our hunt had been more helpful. Of all my siblings, I'd hoped he would be the most empathetic. He tried his best to relate, but he'd never experienced anything similar to this, not even close. It didn't matter what human he found himself in the company of; he struggled to abstain at all. His sincere shame over his failures was truly humbling, and I resolved to be more forgiving of his lapses in future.

He was at least able to assure me that Bella had said nothing about my strange behaviour towards her on that first day. No one linked my absence from school with her arrival either. Truthfully, few of them actually cared where _Ed-weirdo_ Cullen had gone, though some of the more observant students wondered why I hadn't departed during better weather and left my siblings behind.

He and Alice were optimistic about a successful outcome today. Between them, they'd devised a plan to watch over me and keep me safe—to keep Bella and I both safe—from myself. I didn't relish being under surveillance, necessary though it was. Jasper knew that, but he was big enough not to allow one thought to enter his mind about the way our roles had reversed in only a week.

Despite the unprecedented blood lust, part of me looked forward to Biology class. I was eager to find out how the girl kept her thoughts from me. Could she do it deliberately or was it an accident of genetics that prevented me from hearing them? It had been a long time since I'd been challenged by anyone or anything, but I knew I would figure it out. And once I did, I knew that I could treat her just like any other person.

More importantly, I wanted to alleviate the fear I'd seen in her eyes. I wanted her to know I wasn't a monster.

I glanced in the mirror, seeking assurance that the monster was nowhere to be seen. My reflection appeared normal—or as normal as it ever did. I was ready to face this.

I took the stairs in my usual fashion, two at a time. My parents were waiting for me on the ground floor landing.

_My pager's always on_, Carlisle offered, laying a hand on my shoulder. _I can come for you at any time_.

I nodded in thanks, then turned to give Esme a quick smile. "It'll be alright, Mother." I sounded far more confident than I felt.

"You'll be fine," she agreed, though she was unable to conceal her worry.

Jasper and Alice were already in the car when I took the driver's seat. I always drove; it was expected. Alice gave me a heartening smile, and squeezed Jasper's shoulder, encouragingly. Neither gesture helped alleviate our collective worry. I tried to ignore them as we waited for Emmett and Rosalie, allowing the hum and swish of the windshield wipers soothe my nerves. The stereo played a pretty nocturne by Boccherini.

The wind had whipped up the lower layers of the clouds just before dawn and I daydreamed shapes into them to pass the time. The chill in the air foretold snow, and tiny fractals had already begun to gather on the glass.

"About time," Jasper growled as Rosalie appeared right behind me, not a wisp of hair out of place. Emmett jumped into the passenger seat. His hand flashed for the stereo controls.

"No way," I stopped him. "My ride, my music. You know the rules."

"Ugh! Just don't play any of that opera shit, okay?"

"You"-I grinned-"are a Philistine."

"I have a good feeling about today, Edward," Alice announced.

_Oh, here we go…_

"Yes. In fact, I am eighty-four percent certain that the day will pass without bloodshed." She glared around the car, daring someone to challenge her.

"I like those odds," I complimented her.

"And what if it doesn't?" Emmett drawled, reclining his seat until he was nearly horizontal. _I'm so sick of hearing about this…_

I knew what he was doing; I kept my eyes on the road and let the others rise to his bait.

"How can you say that?" Alice gasped, shocked.

"He should just do it and get it over with." Smirking, he pulled his cap low over his face, folding his hands behind his head.

Confined, irritated, Jasper kicked the back of the seat. "This isn't funny, you lummox."

"Who's laughing?" Emmett's grin thinned, growing as bitter as the memories that now clouded his brow. "Come on: we've all been there. We should _help_ him. As long as we all get a share, where's the harm? And you _are_ going to share, aren't you, Neddy?"

Now he was taking it too far. I shot him a warning look.

Alice was horrified. "Oh, you are just disgusting!"

"No, no, no! Hear me out. It's perfect: he gets it out of his system, and we get an excuse to leave this dump. All we have to do is lie low and wait. My vote's for Vancouver. What do you guys think about becoming naturalized Canadians?"

He could not have realized how closely his words echoed my train of thought in the classroom last week. They spun in my head, filling me with dread.

"Oh, no. Not when I am this close to graduating. I am _so_ done with high school, and I'm not starting over now!"

"That's a very selfish thing to say, Rose," Alice admonished her. "Besides, we won't have to."

"Really? And, what are the odds on that? Are you a craps dealer now, or something?"

"Yeah, she's full of crap." Emmett chuckled.

"So, what you going to do, Edward?" Rosalie persisted.

Her practical question threw me the lifeline I needed, giving me focus. Truthfully, I had nothing planned. I realized I had no idea how I'd react when left to my own devices.

"I don't know. Start by talking to her, I suppose."

"I'd like to see that!" Emmett laughed. "'Hello, I'm sorry that I wanted to eat your face last week. By the way, do you have the crib notes for Friday's test?'"

"Edward can be very charming when he wants to," Alice pointed out.

"Good," Rose replied. "Then he can, very charmingly, tell her to stop staring at us every day at lunch time. It's creepy."

"She probably won't be nearly as appealing once you do speak to her, anyway," Jasper agreed. "Teenage humans are so vacuous. The approach that works for me," grinning, he raised a finger to emphasize his point, "is to think of them as friends, not food." He also thought his reference to popular culture was quite clever.

"Friends, eh?" I smirked. "Can't say I see that happening."

Alice's reflection in the rear view mirror was pensive. She had been dying to talk to me about something since I had returned, though she had refused reveal anything. Every time I got close to catching her thoughts, she started singing an inane little nursery rhyme in her head. She was doing it now.

"Look," I sighed, trying to ignore her, "it's an inconvenience. I can manage an hour a day in a stupid biology class. It's not like I'm going to be socializing with her."

There was silence for a couple of minutes. Alice switched from nursery rhymes to reciting the letters of the Khmer alphabet.

"She's really that delicious?" Emmett finally asked.

"Yes," I growled, shivering inadvertently. My venom pooled at the mere thought. _So potent __―__ what was she?_

"Damn! Then you'd better share."

I turned up the music, and tuned him out.

Sleet was falling heavily by the time I parked in the lot behind the school. By mid-morning the fat, lazy, wet flakes had met in a dripping mass on the grass and tree branches. It was the first official snowfall of the New Year. Blink and you'd miss it. Random thoughts amongst the students about staging a snowball fight at lunch became whispers, coalescing into plans for an out-and-out war. You had to make the most of any type of precipitation other than the liquid form in this part of the world.

To my annoyance, it did nothing to distract me. Snippets of the conversation in the car re-ran in my head like a record skipping in a groove, and self-doubt soon followed. I started to worry. I had seen the fear in her eyes; I had no right to expect her to speak to me. She _should _fear me.

By noon, I was desperate to blow off some steam. I thought about going running but my brothers had a much better idea. They both waited in the hallway, grinning and bouncing snowballs the size of apples in their hands. We met Alice and Rosalie in the courtyard where a fully-fledged artillery fight was already under way. Jasper jerked his head eastward, past the trees lining the soccer fields and up the mountain.

There was plenty of heavy, wet snow at the elevation we climbed to, creating perfect conditions for a game of treetop dodge ball. It was exactly the type of distraction that I needed.

"Time." I was smug as I called game's end.

Jasper landed at the base of a huge cedar beside a grounded Emmett, who he couldn't resist goading.

"How did you not see Edward? He was right above you!"

"He cheats! You can't see him when he turns sideways."

I dodged his shove. "Getting slow in your old age?" I teased.

"Who're you calling old?" he growled.

"A little sluggish?"

"He's definitely put on weight," Jasper noted.

"Doesn't matter anyway," Emmett said. "I remain the undisputed champion. My record still stands."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course. Who will ever forget the winter of '63?"

"Lord knows, he'll never let us," Jasper agreed.

"One more crack out of either of you…" Emmett threatened, pounding his fist against his palm.

"Now, now, boys. Play nice!" Rosalie leaped from a branch.

The girls had long since tired of the game and created a family of snowmen, decorated with their hats and scarves.

"Wouldn't want to wake the baby," she cooed, cradling the blob of snow she had wrapped in my scarf. "See our little baby, Emmett? Looks just like his daddy, doesn't he?" She rocked it back and forth, showing it to him. "Yes, he does…"

Alice peeked around the same tree and giggled.

"Spitting image of you," Jasper agreed.

Emmett pointed his finger into Jasper's chest. "Tonight," he told him, with an evil smile, "I pound you."

Jasper bared his teeth in reply. "Bring it!"

_Not again…_ thought Alice, _you'll be sorry, Jasper... _

By the time we returned to school the rain had resumed, washing away the snow that was left lower down. Despite the brevity of the snowfall, the enjoyment lingered. We could feel the whole cafeteria pulsing with delight as we trooped in, dripping wet like everybody else.

"Hey! Somebody's been sitting in my chair!" Emmett observed.

"Somebody's been sitting in my chair, too," noted Jasper. "And look, he's still there."

Our table had been usurped by a trio of sophomore boys during our absence. Of course, my brothers would have none of that.

Emmett tsked. "An entirely unacceptable situation. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Hale?"

"I would, Mr. Cullen."

"Let's rectify it, then."

"Let's."

They advanced on the interlopers, their stances mirroring each other: a hand on one hip, a huge snowball poised menacingly in the other. The boys quickly scattered. We resumed our places, engaging in the usual lunchtime charade.

"Ah, that's better," Rosalie sighed, fluffing her hair as she sat down. She poked a fork at her spaghetti in distaste and glanced around at what the rest of us had purchased.

"Ew! Alice, what's that?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Broccoli soup."

"Looks like vomit."

"It's not very appealing," Alice agreed, stirring the sludgy green stuff.

Emmett grabbed the crackers and stuffed them in his mouth.

"You know," he said, chewing thoughtfully, "These aren't half bad." He continued to chew. "Hmm. Dry, though."

"You'll regret it later," I chuckled.

Jasper hadn't bought any food. He bounced a last snowball in his hand, waiting for an unlucky back to turn. Emmett shook his wet head at Alice and Rosalie, showering them with melting snow – and probably cracker crumbs. I leaned back in my chair to enjoy my family's high spirits.

_Bella Swan, eleven o'clock_, Alice warned me. I knew she meant well but her thoughts had the opposite effect.

"Thank you, Alice. I have eyes," I hissed, low enough that only she could hear me.

_Just trying to help. I know that you can't hear what she's thinking. Don't worry_, she added, seeing my horrified expression, I haven't told the others.

_Don't_. I warned her with a look.

"Geez, man. Chill!" Emmett pointed at the bagel that I had mashed to crumbs in my palm.

I had sensed her approach even before Alice's warning. Amongst the hordes of flesh and fluid surrounding us, her bouquet was unique – a perfume crafted just for me. Blood beating just for me. She shuffled into the cafeteria, half a step behind Jessica Stanley, self-conscious, the binder in her hand poised like a shield.

It was not unreasonable of her to expect attack. Mike Newton was an irresistible target, and he was headed her way. His shirt and hair were sopping wet; I wasn't the only one who had lobbed a few snowballs at him during the fracas.

He met them at the door and escorted them to the table he usually occupied with Eric and Angela. I noted that Eric was actively competing with him for Bella's attention. For her part, she seemed more at ease than she had been at this time last week. She was still doing a lot of listening rather than actively joining in their conversation, but she seemed to be a part of their little clique now.

For the hell of it, I concentrated hard on that place between Jessica and Mike where Bella's thoughts should have been. Mike's internal monologue broadcast loud and clear. His fantasies about her were particularly lurid – and quite vulgar. Jessica was contemplating which nail colour would look better with her blue dress – pink or coral - when she abruptly noticed that I was looking at Bella.

_For crying out loud! It's bad enough that Mike and Eric hang off her every word, now Edward Cullen's ogling her…_

She nudged Bella, and it didn't take a mind reader to figure out what she said next.

I rearranged my face into a bland mask. I didn't want her to be alarmed. As Bella's eyes met mine, she dropped her head, letting her hair fall forward to conceal her face once more, but not before I saw the fear in her eyes.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" she asked Jessica.

"No. Should he be?"

"I don't think he likes me."

"The Cullens don't like anybody…well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them." I coughed to hide my laughter at her inference.

_What?_ Alice asked. I grinned and shook my head.

"But he's still staring at you," Jessica persisted. _He's never looked at me like that._

"Stop looking at him!" Bella hissed.

Jessica chuckled. _Like she'd even stand a chance!_

But she was also puzzled. Had Bella not told her about my behaviour in class last week, then? A quick scan of the minds of the others at the table revealed that they were ignorant as well. On the one hand, that was a relief. On the other, it made me wonder why she hadn't said anything.

A shower of cold droplets diverted my attention. Alice ruffled Jasper's hair, shaking out the last clumps of melting snow. She reached over to do the same to me. I grabbed for her wrist but she was too fast. She made a face and messed up my hair anyway.

"Quit it." I lunged for her elbow.

"You quit it," she laughed, dodging me. Then she poked me with her bony little finger. "Are you sure you don't want me to sit in on the class with you?"

"Quite sure."

"Do you want a snack before you go?"

"Alice, I'll be fine!"

She squeezed my shoulder as she got up to leave, and glanced at Jasper. Hand in hand, the two of them passed through the door and crossed the quadrangle.

_Call if you need me, _were her parting thoughts as she glanced at me over her shoulder.

"We're off, too," Emmett announced. He grabbed Rosalie's cap from her head and ran off to fill it with slush. She ran after him, shrieking.

All four of them had left their trays behind. _Thanks a lot_, I thought, stacking them and pushing the whole lot to the side.

I drummed my fingers on the tabletop. It was almost five to one. No point delaying the inevitable. There was nothing for it but to dump all that uneaten food and face what was to come.

_You can do this_, I told myself as I walked down the hall, past the milling students and rows of lockers towards the science labs.

_It's just an ordinary class. A lab you've completed a dozen times in other non-descript high schools just like this one, with dozens of lab partners whose names you don't even remember anymore. This will be no different_.

With a bit of luck, my behavior last week had scared her into ditching class anyway. On second thought, probably not. She didn't look like the ditching type.

There were no fans on in the room today, a good omen, though the air reeked of onion.

_Not the damn mitosis lab again. Esme won't let me back into the house tonight without changing my clothes. The smell will drive everybody up the wall…_

I was pleased that I could distract myself, at least. I might last through the hour after all.

Bella was already seated at my accustomed lab table. So much for faint hope of reprieve. I had to steel myself against the outside wall of the classroom; the ventilation system churned her scent through the open doorway, sending me reeling.

Jasper's stupid 'friends, not food' quip was the mantra in my head as I held my breath and walked unsteadily into the room, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. The pooling venom nearly made me gag. Swallowing, I took my seat, moving it as far away from her as the desk would allow. It didn't' help much, nor did keeping my breathing shallow.

She doodled in her notebook and didn't glance around, but I heard her heart rate pick up noticeably. Her scent hit me like a blast furnace now. Christ, why hadn't I asked to change seats? I didn't think I could do this.

It was pity that saved my sanity, and showed me the way. Her hunched posture indicated utter discomfort, and I really did feel badly for her. My behaviour last week must have been bizarre and frightening, but at least she would never know why. And, maybe Jasper was right, she probably wouldn't be nearly so appealing once she opened her mouth.

_You will not die today_, I promised her silently as I turned in my chair.

"Hello," I said, in the very quiet voice that I used when I wanted to put humans at ease. She looked alarmed. I had expected that. "My name is Edward Cullen. "I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Bella Swan."

"H-how do you know my name?" she stammered.

Her question took me off guard, but given that I'd never spoken to her before, it was a very good one. I laughed a little, a nervous habit that I hated.

"Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."

The dark eyes that had haunted me all week took me in now. Yes, there was fear there, but unlike in my memory, there was no accusation or judgment. Instead, there was curiosity. And I couldn't get over the depth to them! They were beautiful. _Exactly_ the colour of melted chocolate.

"No," she clarified. "I meant, why did you call me Bella?"

"Do you prefer Isabella?" Hadn't she corrected every single person who had addressed her by her full given name?

"No, I like Bella. But I think Charlie – I mean my dad – must call me Isabella behind my back – that's what everyone here seems to know me as."

"Oh." I didn't know how to respond to that.

Thankfully, Mr. Banner chose to begin the lesson at that moment. The purpose of the lab was to separate and identify slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and then label them accordingly.

"Ladies first, partner?" I asked, smiling politely. She returned my smile with the weird, unfocused look I had become accustomed to seeing on female faces, one usually accompanied by some mental drivel along the lines of _he's so hot_. It wasn't about me at all; it was about the vampire enhancements.

"Or, I could start, if you wish?" I offered, maybe reacting too brusquely to her glance. She blushed again, and reached for the first slide.

"No, I'll go ahead," she replied, snapping it into place under the microscope and quickly adjusting the lens.

I was fascinated by the way the flush faded, first from her neck and then from her cheeks and forehead. The tips of her ears remained pink long afterwards.

"Prophase." Her assessment was punctuated with a small nod. Perhaps I had judged her too quickly. Perhaps she was just very shy?

"Do you mind if I look?" I asked, as she began to remove the slide.

Our hands inadvertently met as I stopped her. The tips of her fingers were pink, like they too had been blushing, and my God, they were _warm_. Aside from performing examinations on patients at medical school, I hadn't touched a live human in nearly seventy years, but my memory of each contact was perfect; this sensation was entirely new.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, watching her jerk away from my icy skin as if she'd been stung.

I pulled back too, startled, feeling fire shoot through my dry veins. It was like an electrical burn, and the intensity matched the burning ache her scent caused in my throat. Trying to ignore it, I examined the slide.

"Prophase," I agreed, exhaling in relief. I wrote it on the worksheet, switched out the first slide for the second.

"Anaphase." It was obvious.

"May I?"

Her skepticism was amusing but I pushed the microscope over anyway. She seemed disappointed as she gazed down.

"Slide three?" she asked, holding out her hand. I gave it to her, careful not to touch her skin again. She slid it into place, barely looking at it.

"Interphase." This wasn't the first time she had completed the lab, either. She passed the microscope back to me without another word. I didn't have to examine the slide but I went through the motions before writing the answer down anyway.

We were finished long before anyone else. Bella resumed doodling in her notebook but she kept her hair tucked behind her ears now. Her face was open and clear and her eyes were watchful. She didn't seem to miss a thing going on around her. It was so frustrating not to be able to just fish into her mind and find out what she was thinking. She could have been a mannequin were it not for those expressive brown eyes.

I was relieved to be distracted by a wave of anxiety drifting from across the quadrangle. Alice.

_Nothing to worry about_, I sent back to her. She seemed satisfied by what she saw coming. She sent me a mental hug.

Bella's gaze had swung back to me, and she regarded me shrewdly. "Did you get contacts?" she asked.

"No." I hadn't used corrective lenses since 1918.

It took me a second to understand what she meant. Of course. I wasn't thirsty today; my eyes would be golden. The difference in their colour before and after the hunt wasn't something that most humans consciously picked up on. I tried to avoid close proximity with them when I was thirsty. Yet, she had noticed… interesting.

"Oh. I thought there was something different about your eyes."

I shrugged and looked away, hoping she'd drop it. Her lovely scent assaulted me once more, forcing me to anchor myself to the lab table again. I held my breath, praying to make it to the end of class.

Banner offered a reprieve by coming around to see why we weren't working. His movements disturbed the air, allowing me to exhale and fill my lungs once more. He was disappointed that we'd already completed the lab.

"So, Edward, didn't you think Isabella should get a chance with the microscope?" he asked.

"Bella," I corrected him, annoyed, for some reason, that he'd dismissed her intelligence already. "Actually, she identified three of the five."

He looked at her, skeptically. "Have you done this lab before?"

She smiled shyly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well, I guess it's good you two are lab partners." As he walked away, I heard him mutter, "Why do they always send me the smart ones? Just more work keeping them busy."

She cast her eyes down again at her artwork and I racked my brain for something to say to fill the ensuing silence. I wanted to draw her out but I was completely stumped by this quiet enigma.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" I blurted. She shut her book abruptly, unimpressed with my banality.

"Not really," she replied flatly. She shot a quick glance out the window and shivered.

"You don't like the cold," I deduced.

"Or the wet," she added, defensively.

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," I surmised.

"You have no idea," she muttered, darkly.

She was from the southwest somewhere, wasn't she? Arizona, that was it. The clouds and damp here were often depressing for newcomers not used to the climate. Still, she wasn't the bubbly cheerleader type that I expected of someone hailing from the sunny desert. Her skin was so pale that she could almost have passed for one of us. The scent coming off of it was luscious now.

I wanted to keep her talking – to distract me. "Why did you come here, then?"

"It's… complicated."

"I think I can keep up," I assured her.

She paused for a long moment, and then looked up at me again. There was a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. I counted thirty seven of them.

"My mother remarried," she began. Something in her morose tone of voice triggered a vestige of that protective urge I'd felt for her in the cafeteria last week. Suddenly, despite the searing discomfort, I wanted to gather her close to me. How odd…

I pulled myself together. "That doesn't sound so complex." Children carried a lot of emotional baggage these days, so I tried to make my next question more sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." Her expression became utterly miserable. _Ah, problems with the stepfather, then._

"And you don't like him."

"No, Phil is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?" _She must miss her mother, and her friends back in Phoenix_. She carried a weight of sadness_._

"Phil travels a lot. He plays ball for a living."

Now that was intriguing. My passion for baseball notwithstanding, her admission seemed incongruous given that she was not the sporty type herself. I had already heard about her lack of physical coordination in gym class.

"Have I heard of him?" I asked, running current player stats through my head.

"Probably not. He doesn't play _well_. Strictly minor league. He moves around a lot."

Minor-league? I may have read too many nuances into the comment, but it was not a complimentary description of her stepfather's ability. Did she think her mother could do better?

"So, your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him."

I dimly recalled the town gossip about Chief Swan being abandoned by his flaky wife years ago. Apparently, he had never really got over it. I could imagine that the child had probably had an unstable home life in the intervening years. And now she had been dumped on him while the mother chased her baseball player around the country like a groupie.

My assumption obviously irritated her. She raised her chin defensively. "No, she did not send me here. I sent myself."

"I don't understand." _A self-imposed penance? What for_? Her responses were not at all as I expected them to be.

"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy… so I decided to spend some quality time with Charlie."

"But now you're unhappy."

"And?" she challenged, though she did not deny it.

"That doesn't seem fair," I finished.

Her laugh was bitter. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that one before." I smiled, showing my teeth.

"So that's all," she insisted, though her expression indicated that she wanted to say more. _I_ wanted her to. I couldn't resist goading her.

"You put on a good show, but I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see." She gave me a dubious look.

"Am I wrong?"

Her scowl indicated that I had hit a nerve. "I didn't think so."

"What does it matter to _you_?" she demanded.

"That's a very good question," I mused, flexing the fingers on my right hand. The skin remained very warm where it had brushed against hers – humming almost.

She sighed again, looking piqued.

"Am I annoying you?" I hoped so; it annoyed me very much that I could not read this inconsequential, delicious girl.

Mike Newton's head swiveled reflexively as he blatantly eavesdropped from his seat just ahead. I was annoying him, at least. I didn't know why this knowledge should have pleased me.

She appeared surprised at how forthright her reply was as she spoke, and its unintentional irony almost made me laugh out loud.

"Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself." She flipped her hand impatiently, stirring her scent in the air again. I found it hard to concentrate on what she was saying for a couple of seconds. "My face is so easy to read – my mother always calls me her open book."

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read," I demurred.

"You must be a good reader then."

"Usually." _Usually, I don't have to try this hard. _

The class was called to order. The teacher began to illustrate with transparencies on the overhead projector what we had seen through the microscope, but I was unable to feign attention.

I found myself distracted by the small tendrils of her hair that waved back and forth in the draft from the ventilation system. The curls held her scent like a halo. What _was_ that colour? I didn't know, but the highlights were lovely. The shampoo she used smelled like strawberries.

The pull of her blood remained as strong as ever. I tried very hard to keep my eyes off the translucent skin of her neck, the tiny pulse of the artery. I tried very hard not to listen to the soft echoing thud of her heartbeat. I counted the seconds until the bell rang.

I was on my feet and out the door before it stopped. In passing, I didn't miss Mike skip to Bella's side to pick up her books for her. Trust the Ladies Man to make his moves. I didn't enjoy the thought of leaving her to fend off his tender mercies on her own. She could certainly choose better friends, but that was none of my business.

As before class, I had to lean against the outside wall, but this time it was with an exhale of relief. I had done it. I had made it through the hour. It wouldn't be as difficult the next time. She was no longer the demon of that first day. I could handle this.

I debated skipping my next class. History. What a farce that was. The curriculum encompassed little prior to the American War of Independence, and virtually nothing outside the borders of the lower continental states. I often thought it a pity that Carlisle wasn't a teacher. The history lessons he'd be able to give from his nearly four hundred years of existence!

I followed Bella's scent down the hallway while I made up my mind about attending the class, staying far enough behind that she and Mike remained unaware of me. It pleased me that the impulse was not predatory. When she wasn't in close proximity, the scent of her blood no longer burned. It was interesting to watch the path of male heads that turned in her wake, evidence that I wasn't the only one affected by her natural perfume. Even some of the male teachers noticed her.

I did go to history, though I ended up regretting it. During a discussion of the War of 1812, the teacher couldn't differentiate Upper from Lower Canada on a map, and mispronounced the name 'Quebec' so many times that I wanted to throw my pencil at her. Unable to tolerate the incompetence, I instead dissected my earlier conversation with Bella.

She was no demon, but she wasn't the vacuous creature that Jasper had predicted, either. She was… intriguing. Her responses to my questions had been cautious – that wasn't surprising, given my behaviour last week. But their measured thoughtfulness revealed a maturity beyond her years that I had not expected. I had never come across another seventeen year old like her in all my years.

And, she was perceptive, too. She had pointed out some of the little markers that made me different, which no other human here had ever done. Without a doubt, she would have noticed them in the others, too. For instance, had she seen that we never seemed to eat? What else had she picked up on? No wonder she made Rosalie uncomfortable.

I was annoyed that I had allowed her physicality to distract me from my purpose. I was no closer to reading her thoughts now than I had been last week. And, it was so strange that I couldn't rely on her expressions to predict her thoughts, either. They seemed to polarize one another. Still, I was curious to learn more about her. Perhaps, for no other reason than that, I would have incentive to attend Biology class this term.

The rain eased to a fine mist by the end of the school day. As usual, my siblings kept me waiting in the parking lot. It irked me that they were never in as much of a hurry to leave this place as I was. For the hundredth time, I contemplated letting them walk home.

The cars were beginning to thin out when Bella trotted over to a truck parked three vehicles away from mine. I hadn't seen a Chevy like that for almost forty years. Held together by rust, it was bulbous, red and totally incongruous amongst the other cars parked around it. It was a resurrection from the scrapheap - or not long for it. What a piece of junk!

The engine roared to life, coughing black smoke as she glanced around to check her blind spots. She threw it into reverse too quickly, almost backing into another car on the way out. That little tin bucket wouldn't have stood a chance had she collided with it. I watched her pull forward, back out again, and maneuver the turn successfully this time. Her nose was poked haughtily in the air as she drove past. She appeared to be making a very obvious point of not looking in my direction.

My siblings deigned to make their collective appearance at that moment.

"Ready to go?" Emmett boomed.

"How was Bio?" Rosalie asked, once we were all in the car.

"Piece of cake," I lied, watching in the rear view mirror as the red truck disappeared. Alice sent me a thumbs-up.

As I gripped the steering wheel and backed into the aisle, I noticed that the strange sensation in my right hand had eased. It was cold.

I should have been relieved. But I wanted to feel the burn again.


	3. Collisions

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Thanks to Lezlee and TRDancer-excellent betas for this chapter.**

**And thanks to those of you who've reviewed so far. Without your encouragement, Edward would be whispering to me on his own, in the dark.**

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

The Fly – U2  
Étude Op. 10 No. 12: "Revolution" - Frédéric Chopin

* * *

**COLLISIONS**

_"Port Angeles and coastal areas north to the border can expect periods of freezing rain or wet snow today. Accumulations will vary. Regions further inland will receive up to..."_

I switched off the background babble of the radio. We hadn't relied on weather forecasts since acquiring our little live-in barometer. Alice had been right, as usual. Two light snowfalls in a row, punctuated by freezing drizzle, had made the morning commute a little slippery but nothing that couldn't be handled by all-weather tires and defensive driving.

Actually, it had been fun to breeze past the mini-vans and SUVs on the way in—watching drivers white-knuckling it, not daring to push the speedometer past twenty five. The mere mention of snow around here engendered blind panic on the roads. I would have enjoyed watching any of them try to tackle an Alaskan highway in winter.

Predictably, the surface of the school parking lot gleamed like it had been polished. The grounds staff hadn't yet been by to throw down salt to melt the ice. I resisted the urge to pull a couple of doughnuts on the way in, but we all enjoyed watching the show as the cars that followed us in fishtailed on the curve.

Jasper gave a low whistle after one particularly graceless entrance.

"Good one." He snickered.

"What do you think? Five-point-six?" I asked.

"No. That was only a five-point-four."

"Really?"

"I think he lost marks for execution."

I shrugged. "Maybe the judges will have to see the replay."

A thrumming roar heralded the arrival of Bella Swan's truck. I could hear it coming blocks away; anyone could have. I felt my siblings tense, their eyes trained on me, their muscles coiled to spring, preparing to launch themselves at me and hold me back. I willed myself not to give them reason to.

Chains glinted on the tires as she pulled into a spot across the lot―a sensible precaution, given the vehicle's age and decrepit condition. She hopped out of the cab, no graceful swan, rather a swallow of a girl. No, _a swift_. The size of the red beast made her appear absurdly small in comparison. She wasn't as short as Alice, but it was still a long way for her to reach the ground.

Her determined little leap landed her right in a puddle. I bit my lip and turned away so she wouldn't see me laugh; I bit it to staunch the venom that flowed at the sight of her.

She stooped now, peering intently at the rear bumper. I couldn't tell what she looked at, but the action reminded me of something . . . a momentary distraction from the powerful aroma of her blood. Even here, out of doors it beckoned me. _So sweet . . . _

"Coming, Edward?" Alice called aloud. She was anxious.

"In a minute." That scratch on the front fender of my car had not been there yesterday. "You go ahead." Buffing it with the sleeve of my jacket, glancing surreptitiously―needlessly―across the lot made me feel so foolish. Of course she was still there, leaning against the bed, rummaging through her backpack. She had headphones on.

And so it began. One of the most momentous events of my life unfolded while I feigned contemplation of my car's paint job.

People often describe how accidents happen in slow motion. For me it was just the opposite. There was a moment of utter stillness and silence, made all the more apparent as it was pierced by the metallic scream of brakes, and the stink of shredding rubber. What followed mimicked a scene from a silent newsreel at the turn of the last century. Reality sped up, but my senses were acute enough to discern exactly what occurred with the tick of each nanosecond.

A dark blue van took the turn much too quickly, hitting the black ice. The driver must have panicked; clearly he had no idea how to correct the skid. He steered too far in the opposite direction, veering wildly around another car that was easing into a parking stall, and then spun out of control, skating sideways across the lot.

The van just kept going, its trajectory propelling it straight for the rear of Bella's truck. She was standing between them, frozen in shock. She knew that she was going to die.

I don't recall leaving the side of my vehicle, let alone crossing the lot in time to knock her out of the way. All I remember thinking is, _Not her_.

In the next moment, I was beside her truck and she was airborne, plunging towards the tan car parked on the other side. The back of her head hit the pavement with a hollow thud; the force of the impact made me wince. I was afraid that she'd pass out, but she just lay there, blinking, opening and closing her mouth like a fish gasping for oxygen.

There was no time to check her condition, for the van had arced back around at its point of impact. It was still coming, only from the other direction now.

"_Fuck!_" It was a word I only used around my brothers, never, _ever_ in the company of women. It just came out.

I had to throw all my weight against the van to stop it. Though I knew the pain was momentary, it hurt like hell.

_Keep her safe._

It was pure luck that I caught the bumper of the van; and it shuddered to a stop less than a foot away from us, the near wheel suspended in the air. Another second and her legs would certainly have been crushed. Somehow, I managed to keep it aloft in one hand, swinging her around underneath it to the other side with the other.

The only thoughts in my head were, _Don't let go! Keep her safe!_

I berated myself later for not checking her for a spinal injury, but she didn't cry out in pain. In fact, she was completely calm. More than that, she was safe, and very much alive. I hadn't let go. I wouldn't let go.

We stared at one another in disbelief. How close she was. How warm. I was suddenly very aware of the furious pounding of her heart. It was the only sound that mattered.

"Are you all right?" How frustrating it was that I couldn't rely on telepathy! It was like walking around with one eye closed.

"I'm fine," she answered, struggling to sit up, her voice slurring a little. I couldn't trust her calm demeanour; shock could easily set in.

"Be careful, "I warned. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

I wasn't so distracted that I wasn't thinking ahead. It had already hit me with sickening clarity what I had done. With one impulsive act, I had broken the cardinal rule: keep the secret. It was imperative to plant the first seeds of doubt in her mind about my role in her rescue.

Dazed, she tentatively touched her scalp above her left ear.

"Ow." It was like she was surprised by the pain. Confusion crossed her face.

I could see the blood pooling under the skin. I don't know what I would have done had it broken through.

"That's what I thought," I said, soothingly, calculatingly. Yes, she'd hit her head; she'd have a nice bruise soon. I willed her to believe it.

Her eyes glazed slightly. "How in the . . . " she trailed off, shaking her head. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Bella," I informed her, the first explanation that came to mind. She frowned a little, as if evaluating the truth of my words.

The pain in my shoulder ebbed as my collarbone rapidly re-knit itself. Simultaneously, I couldn't help but notice the intensity of her scent; it was overwhelming in that enclosed space. I was drowning in it. She smelled like . . . flowers. What a time to think of that!

She struggled again to sit up so I let her, sliding myself as far away as I could. My impulse was to flee but there was no way I could escape now without being seen. And a stronger instinct welled up inside me, quelling the first—one that would not let me leave her side until I knew she was all right. It rooted me to the ground.

It was then that the hordes descended: dozens of people shouting, crying, giving orders. It was bad enough listening to them aloud; their unspoken hysteria made the cacophony almost unbearable.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no! She's dead! For sure she's dead!_

"Don't move!" someone commanded.

"Get Tyler out of the van!" another yelled.

_Oh my God! I'm gonna be sick._

"Has anybody called 9-1-1?"

_Please, no blood . . . _

"Everybody stand back, please!"

Bella moved to get up, but I was still worried that she'd faint or go into shock if she stood too quickly. "Just stay put for now," I said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"But it's cold!"

I was unsure if she was complaining about the icy ground, or the touch of my cold skin. To my chagrin, I felt the stupid, inappropriate laughter leak from my throat again. _Damnit, shut up! This isn't funny, _I berated myself.

"You were over there." She suddenly pointed across the lot.

How had she noticed that? She hadn't even been looking in my direction before. No, this definitely was _not_ funny.

"No, I wasn't," I snapped, crossing my arms.

"I saw you," she argued.

_You don't know what you saw._ "Bella, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."

"No." Her jaw set stubbornly. What was the matter with her?

"_Please_, Bella." She had reduced me to begging. None of this made sense. She should have been begging for her life right now; she had seen too much.

"Why?" she demanded, turning the full force of her penetrative eyes on me. My knees felt weak.

"Trust me," I pleaded.

The sirens in the distance grew louder. The parking lot erupted in a howling blaze of light and noise as two ambulances and a fire truck roared around the corner in the wake of the cruiser belonging to the chief of police.

Bella tugged at my coat sleeve. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," I lied, just wishing she'd be quiet.

"Fine," she parroted angrily.

The EMTs swarmed out of the ambulances like an army of black-jacketed ants. It took six of them, as well as two teachers to shift the van far enough away to bring stretchers in.

"I'm okay, I can walk," I insisted, finding my feet at last, "but she definitely hit her head. She probably has a concussion."

_An M.D., are we?_ one of the EMTs scoffed as he lifted her onto a stretcher.

There was a small, petty part of me that enjoyed watching her seethe in humiliation as they administered a neck brace, strapped her down, and loaded her into the back of the ambulance, but the anxiety I felt about her safety was much greater. I wanted them to ensure that she was all right because I was unable to. I hadn't experienced such helplessness in almost ninety years.

Chief Swan hovered over the stretcher, smoothing her hair and stroking her cheek. I was relieved that someone finally was checking her for signs of shock. His hands fluttered, feebly attempting to tuck the blanket wrapped around her small body tighter over the flimsy mattress.

"It's gonna be okay, honey," he whispered, over and over. "It's gonna be okay." It was himself he was trying to reassure; the look on Bella's face had become distinctly mortified.

_Please God, let her be all right. She's all I've got. _

That's what I heard most clearly. It was extremely difficult to glean much more from his muffled thoughts―something at the time I attributed to his great distress. It had also caused him to forget the need for backup and that was good. Any investigation would have to wait until later, after the witnesses' memories began to fade.

The other EMTs were occupied with loading the driver of the van―Tyler Crowley from my math class―into a second ambulance. No one noticed the groove in the tan car's bumper where I had braced myself against it. The dents in the front bumper of the van, as well, could easily have been caused by the impact with Bella's truck.

And none of the other bystanders seemed aware that my family members stood apart from them, displaying virtually no concern for my well being. But I saw them. I tried to shut out the wrath of their thoughts as their livid faces disappeared around the corner. There would be hell to pay later. The fact that Bella would probably be the one to suffer for my folly distressed me more than the ensuing conflict. I tried to swallow the panic.

Chief Swan's escort allowed for a mercifully quick ride to the hospital. I got to ride shotgun. The chatty driver insisted on making small talk, but I was incapable of anything beyond grunting monosyllables back at him. The thoughts of the other EMT were reassuring; Bella was stable and probably in no danger, but I was terrified about what she'd say to him. For whatever reason, embarrassment, anger, fear, she didn't utter a word. Her face, in his mind, only stared sullenly at the wall of the ambulance.

As we pulled up to the emergency entrance, I let myself out, heading straight inside. I think the ambulance was still in motion.

"Hey, wait! Where d'you think you're going . . . ?" the driver called.

"I need to see Dr. Cullen," I announced at the desk, as calmly as I could.

"Dr. Cullen's on shift. You'll have to see the ER doctor." Though she recognized me, the nurse indicated I should take a seat.

"No, I think he'll see me," I insisted. "I'm his son."

Without waiting for a response, I blew through the doors to the back of the unit and down a corridor in the direction of Carlisle's office. He was already en route. His eyes narrowed when he saw me.

"I heard_,"_ he confirmed. "Are you all right? "

"I'm okay."

"And the girl?"

"A couple of bumps and bruises. Think you can keep her here for a while, though?"

"I'll see what I can do." He led me into an empty alcove. _Were you seen? _He was asking about human eyes, of course.

"_She_ saw me," I admitted, the panic rising again.

He sighed. _Has she said anything?_

"She hit her head. She doesn't know what she saw."

_Of course not. But we have to take precautions, nonetheless._

"You spoke with the others." It wasn't a question.

_Mm-hm . . . _

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

_We'll discuss this at home, _he promised, the picture of complete calm. It did nothing to assure me.

He then made a deliberate movement down a hallway leading away from the ER. Turning to me before he departed, the faintest of frowns creased his forehead.

"It'll be alright," he murmured. I knew he was trying to convince himself of this fact more than he was me.

Since I was to be stuck in limbo until Carlisle had examined his patients and signed the appropriate release forms, I decided to make use of my time. I had two objectives: the first was to find out if anyone had seen me stop the van. The second was to distract myself from the fact that I detested hospitals.

I tried to find somewhere to wait near an open window or doorway, but the smells of blood and death were, of course, inescapable. I'd never gotten over the aversion; it was the reason I'd never practiced medicine. It still amazed me that Carlisle could make this his life's work.

It wasn't only the temptation that bothered me, though. The vague human memories I retained from the influenza ward in Chicago so long ago haunted me, even now. To add to my discomfort, an auburn-haired woman chose that moment to walk past, dragging an IV drip behind her. I shivered at the resemblance to my human mother that my mind constructed.

During the intervening hour, most of the witnesses converged on the waiting room, hoping for news of Bella and Tyler's condition. That was convenient. Nobody paid me much attention as I wandered around, eavesdropping. It was soon apparent that those who had seen me get into the ambulance had not actually noticed my presence when the accident occurred. There was no need for damage control just yet.

Returning to school with my siblings on the warpath was a distinctly unappealing prospect, so I convinced myself that the conscientious thing to do would be to stop by the ER. Truthfully, I was anxious to make sure that she was all right.

Tyler sat on one bed, the sloppy bandages making him look like a half-unravelled mummy. He rocked back and forth, berating himself, and praying that Chief Swan wouldn't take away his license. He didn't even want to think about what his parents would do when they heard from their insurance company.

"Is she sleeping?" I asked him, indicating our damsel in distress, prone on the adjoining bed. Her eyes snapped open when she heard my voice. Evidently not.

"Hey, Edward, I'm really sorry-" he began. He was only apologizing because Bella told him I'd been there to pull her out of the way. He was mortified that his van had nearly crushed me too, but had no memory of actually seeing me.

"No blood, no foul." I grinned, cutting him off. "So, what's the verdict?" I asked Bella. Though my tone was cavalier, my voice rang hollow in my ears. Her blood―her skin . . . both scents beckoned treacherously.

"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," she whined. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know. But don't worry, I came to spring you."

Carlisle appeared with the timing of a veteran actor. As he ministered to his patients, I moved discretely towards the door.

"So, Miss Swan, how are you feeling?" he asked. He'd have her eating out of his hand in no time.

"I'm fine," she declared.

Only I noticed him inhale, savour, and swallow. Only I perceived the look on his face as it turned minutely towards me.

_It's the same girl, isn't it?_

I shot him an affirmation with a brief upward glance. Over the decades, we'd developed a private sign language of sorts.

_I'll do what I can_, he promised. "Your X-rays look good," he said to her. "Does your head hurt? Edward said you hit it pretty hard." Surely no one was immune to his charm?

Apparently, Bella was. "It's fine," she repeated, scowling at me.

_Extraordinary, _he marvelled_. _He examined her skull, noticing her wince when he touched the bruise. I looked away, trying not to think of the blood.

_Her scent is quite singular, _he went on_._ I bit my lip in a vain attempt to staunch the venom. How was he able to touch her so casually? I could see that he was affected, too.

"Tender?" he asked her, kindly.

"Not really." What a terrible liar she was. Her body language gave her away, even if her thoughts did not.

Carlisle didn't believe her either._ You did well, _he told me, his gaze never leaving his patient._ She will recover. Go home if you need to._

Home was the last place that I wanted to go.

He smiled kindly at her. "Your father is in the waiting room. You can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" she asked.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

"Does _he_ get to go back to school?" she demanded, jerking a thumb at me.

"Somebody has to spread the good news that we survived," I said mockingly, though I had no intention of going back there today, either.

"Actually," Carlisle pointed out, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

Bella went bright red and covered her face in embarrassment. "Do you want to stay?" he asked her, alarmed.

His gaze immediately shot to me. _Are you all right?_ He'd seen me flinch as her scent washed through the room once again.

_Fine. _I gave him a wide stare.I was the rotten liar now.

"No, no!" she was protesting, hopping off the bed too quickly.

He caught her as she stumbled. "Take some Tylenol for the pain," he instructed, steadying her on her feet.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," she lied again.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," he told her.

_Go, _he urged me, signing her chart with his customary flourish._ I'll take care of this._

"Lucky Edward happened to be standing next to me," she emphasized her last four words through gritted teeth. I inched closer to the door.

"Oh, well, yes," he agreed, coughing to hide an expletive. I didn't miss that, nor did I miss the flicker of intuition in Bella's eyes.

Carlisle saw it, too and he made a beeline for Tyler. In other circumstances, I would have laughed at his agitation.

"I'm afraid that _you'll_ have to stay with us just a bit longer," he told him. The boy's lower lip quivered slightly.

My hand was on the doorknob, but she was already at my side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" She hadn't forgotten the promise she'd extricated from me earlier.

"Your father is waiting for you," I said, through gritted teeth.

_A little help?_ I signalled Carlisle, not appreciating the laughter in his eyes.

She glared at me, then at Carlisle and Tyler. "I'd like to speak with you alone, if you don't mind."

_You had your chance, _he thought, not bothering to hide his amusement any longer.

She followed me down the corridor and around the corner into a short, deserted recess. _One, two, three, four . . ._ I didn't make it to ten. I could barely see straight as I spun around to face her.

"What do you want?"

She was taken aback. "You owe me an explanation," she reminded me, probably less forcefully than she intended.

"I saved your life―I don't owe you anything."

"You promised," she whispered.

"Bella, you hit your head. You don't know what you're talking about." My voice sounded compelling, but my words only angered her.

"There's nothing wrong with my head!" she shouted, frustrated.

"What do you want from me, Bella?" I asked again.

"I want to know the truth. I want to know why I'm lying for you."

"What do you _think_ happened?" I tried to stall for time.

"All I know is that you weren't anywhere near me―Tyler didn't see you, either, so don't tell me I hit my head too hard. That van was going to crush us both―and it didn't . . . " she recited the entire sequence of events with crystal clear detail. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes but did not overflow. She had missed nothing.

"You think I lifted a van off you?" I asked, trying to keep my face and voice deadpan, belaying the panic that threatened to overwhelm me.

She just nodded.

I've thought about what I said to her next so often. Part of me must have wanted her to know, to understand what I was, even then. Why else didn't I deny it?

"Nobody will believe that, you know."

She should have been questioning her recollection, her over-active imagination―a normal human would have been. She should not have had a comeback, but her reply absolutely floored me.

"I'm not going to tell anybody." She enunciated each word carefully: Not. Going. To. Tell. Anybody. I braced myself for the 'If'_, _the ultimatum, but none followed. She just crossed her arms over her chest and continued to glare at me.

"Then why does it matter?"

"It matters to me because I don't like to lie. So there'd better be a good reason why I'm doing it."

Why would she be willing to lie for me? She didn't even know me. "Can't you just thank me and get over it?" _And stay away from me for your own good?_

"Thank you." There was no hint of mockery in her tone, though her face remained livid, her jaw set. She was actually waiting for me to follow through.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"No."

_Of course not._ "In that case . . . I hope you enjoy disappointment."

We jus stared each other down. Finally, she had to look away.

"Why did you even bother?"

Why did she keep asking these bizarre questions? _What does it matter to you? Why did you bother?_ Once again, I was compelled to answer honestly, and I hated the power that she wielded over me.

"I don't know!" And I stormed out the nearest exit, beyond caring if anybody saw me.

There was no question of going back to the school. I knew that I'd cripple the next person who looked at me the wrong way. Moreover, I didn't want witnesses to the inevitable confrontation with my family. Coward that I was, I headed for the hills―the nearby national park. The irony was not lost on me that I had been on the retreat a lot lately, and that this really had to stop. But at least I had respite from the voices for a little while. And I could kick over a few dead trees in peace.

I just did not understand that exasperating, obstinate girl. Her reactions were all wrong. The situation was all wrong. She had tempted me, taunted me―given me the best reasons in the world to kill her, yet _I_ was the one cowering in the woods!

I fully expected to hear that silken, evil voice whispering in my ear once more. I waited for it, but it was like a switch had been flipped in my brain. Infuriating as she was, there was no way I could end her life. The thought of never breathing in her lovely scent again, or watching the blood flush under the skin as she blushed was intolerable. It made me physically ill.

These impulses and feelings were impossible to reconcile with decades of learned behaviour. I was no one's savoir. It would have been safer for all our sakes had I done nothing. As horrible as that sounded, I would have―we would have―been left in peace, wouldn't we? No, that wasn't it . . .

Of course there was a rationale. Had her blood spilled in that parking lot, I knew couldn't have resisted. I would have exposed us all for what we were. That's why I had acted. It was the only explanation that made sense. By the time I got home, I had even managed to convince myself that there was some truth in this excuse.

* * *

The argument was every bit as bad as I had anticipated it would be.

They were all in the great room waiting for me. Jasper had been keeping the energy calm and focused and the strain on him was obvious. He gave the moment I stepped through the front door.

Rosalie pounced first. Nobody could push my buttons the way she could.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed.

"What was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let her die!"

"This isn't just about you; it's about all of us. You broke the rules, Edward!"

You couldn't really blame her. She lived on a knife-edge; on the one hand, she longed so badly to be human, yet it was she who guarded our secret more jealously than anyone.

Jasper was uncharacteristically frightened too, but only because he knew what he would have done had he been in my place.

"You should have just let it happen," he told me.

"You know full well what would have followed. Would you have been able to restrain me?" I asked. A growl began to rumble through his chest.

"That's enough," Esme interjected. "We have to discuss this calmly."

"Nobody saw Edward stop the van," Carlisle pointed out. "I've talked to the police. Nobody actually noticed him at the scene until the vehicles were separated."

"Bella noticed. She must have said something to you at the hospital." Emmett didn't share the others' fear. He was the protector, after all.

"She has a mild concussion. Her recollection will be foggy, at best. I don't think there's any cause for concern." Carlisle's voice was smooth.

"She promised she wouldn't tell," I heard myself say. How weak I sounded.

"Why would she do that? What does she want?" Rosalie was panicked now. She spun around to face Emmett. "I told you this would happen!"

"She won't tell," Alice contradicted. "I'd be able to see that coming."

"Was she sincere?" Jasper asked me, ignoring his wife. "_Was she_?" he demanded, noticing my hesitation.

Secrets never remain so for very long in our family. I suppose that they would have found out soon enough, but this wasn't the ideal forum to admit my shortcomings. To say that the shit hit the fan at the news I couldn't hear Bella's thoughts is putting it mildly.

"Oh, well, that changes everything!" Rosalie was livid now. "We're all going to be just fine because a human you don't even _know_, whose mind you can't even _read_, gave you her word. Right!"

"Control yourself, Rosalie . . . " Carlisle threatened. His voice was still low, but the menace was building.

"We'll have to get rid of her," Emmett decided. His bravado in the car yesterday had been just that, but he was serious now. Even so, the prospect of killing an innocent was abhorrent to him.

"Oh, no, there must be some other way," Esme said, biting her lip. "Carlisle, we can't-"

His eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, and I saw him consider it. A call to Chief Swan. Something in Bella's x-rays had given him pause―could she return for follow up? Resting between procedures, she'd suffer a stroke―a terrible tragedy, though bleeding on the brain was not unheard of after head trauma. The toxin would be virtually untraceable. He would do this for me; he would do it to keep us all safe.

_So sorry, son. _His mortificationwas plain when he realized his lapse. "It's not an option," he resolved aloud, turning to face the others.

"Even if she has the best intentions, she'll slip up one day," Emmett insisted. "I don't like it either, but I can't see any way around it."

"Edward should do it; it's all his fault," Rosalie declared.

"Babe . . . " Emmett soothed her, patting her shoulder nervously. His head turned slightly, and though his eyes remained downcast, his thoughts were directed at me.

_You won't have to do it, brother._

Alice gasped at the sight of a new future, and her hand flew to her mouth. For just a second, I saw what she did. And then the nursery rhymes returned, frenetically increasing in volume and tempo as she attempted to block me out.

_Not yet, Edward, _she thought, firmly, so I kept my attention on the others.

"You're right." Rosalie was responding to Emmett, unaware of my internal dialogue with our sister. "He wouldn't be able to control himself."

She studied her nails for a moment. "I could do it, I suppose. I make a very clean kill. And no one would ever suspect me."

"She's not to be harmed," I told them, my voice growing stronger.

"There_ is_ no other way," Jasper insisted quietly, in control of himself now. "I've seen what the Volturi do to law-breakers. Do you want to bring that down on us? Do you want _that_ on your conscience?"

I had seen it, too, through his memories. "Of course not."

"It will be quick and painless. She won't suffer," he continued.

"No!"

I could feel the ground falling beneath me. The credo of our family was to protect human life. But now they wanted to end one. Not just any life―_hers._ The image of her, cold and white and drained of life, was inconceivable. The more they pushed, the more I held my ground, fighting to remain coherent despite rage boiling up inside me. Carlisle sided with me.

"Why are you protecting her, Edward? What's she to you?" Rosalie snarled.

Her thoughts had never been clearer. She was jealous. Despite the fact that she had Emmett and truly loved him, she lived for adoration. She couldn't stand the notion that I'd never shared the adulation that others had for her, that someone else could be more important to me.

"I could leave," I offered, grasping at straws. "She has nothing over the rest of you."

Even as I said that, the thought of never again meeting those perceptive brown eyes caused a flare of inexplicable but excruciating pain deep within me. I briefly pondered Rosalie's question; why was I so intent on protecting this human that I scarcely knew?

"You are not leaving. Do whatever it takes to stay, Edward. I won't lose you again." Esme's distress at the thought of killing another creature could not compete with her enduring love for her family.

"_I'm_ leaving. I'm not listening to this anymore," Alice announced through gritted teeth. She stalked out of the room with her hands over her ears.

Uncharacteristically, Carlisle raised his voice: "We will not allow our family to be split up over this matter. No one is to leave. At this stage we don't even know if there will be any complications. Alice and Edward can monitor people's reactions, and if necessary the whole family will leave together." His tone brooked no argument.

Despite Carlisle effectively closing the dispute, grumblings continued for ages, terminated by slamming doors and the noisy demise of a few expensive objêts d'art. For my part, I managed to wrench the banister off kilter on the way upstairs. I wasn't impressed when I calculated how much I'd owe Esme for this particular visit from the contractor.

It had been a hell of a day. Not for the first time, I wished I could just go to sleep like a normal person and forget that it had ever happened.

But there was Alice waiting in my room, a tiny pinto bean sitting bolt upright on the couch.

"Hey."

"Hey."

I collapsed beside her, rubbing my face in my hands. She moved over to give me more room.

"Carlisle's decided?" Of course she already knew.

"Em and Jazz will come around," I told her. "He'll make them see sense. And Rosalie's just frightened. You know that."

"Rosalie . . . " She blew air between her teeth, dismissing her.

"I should never have come back here," I said, after a silence.

Alice snorted. "Like you could have stayed away." Noticing my surprise, she added, almost pityingly, "I don't think you could leave, even if you wanted to."

"I _should_."

"You're no more capable of doing that now then you were of killing that girl in school last week," she smiled.

I was convinced that Alice didn't know what I was truly capable of.

She gave me an apprehensive look; nonetheless, she was ready to talk.

"I went to her house, you know," she admitted. "That night after you left."

I did know that. "Esme told me."

"I wasn't sure what you were going to do. You still hadn't made a decision."

"You don't have to justify yourself, Alice. It was a wise precaution."

It went without saying that she would have been unable to stop me if I had returned to Forks that night.

"I watched over her until I was sure you weren't coming back. I wanted to know what set you off. I just couldn't figure it out. She seemed so ordinary. But she's not like other people, is she? Other humans, I mean."

That was an understatement.

"And how did you know that I can't hear her thoughts?"

She smirked. "I didn't. At least, not at first. But you're not the only one who's good at reading people, you know."

"Fair enough," I acknowledged. "But none of this is her fault. It's mine. It's not safe for me to be around her."

"I don't think it's up to you to make that decision. I think she's just one of those people that attract danger. Frankly, I'm surprised she didn't dismember herself while she was making dinner that night I watched her."

I rolled my eyes. She narrowed hers, nodding like she was giving herself permission to say what she needed to.

"You did the right thing, saving her life," _She's important_, she added, not caring that I wasn't meant to hear.

"Doesn't feel like it," I muttered, answering her spoken statement only. I could tell that she was getting frustrated with me, so I squeezed her knee. "Thanks for sticking up for me today, Alice―not just today. You're a good sister."

She was silent for a while, gazing into the cold forest night. "You probably won't be so thankful in a couple of minutes, though," she contradicted softly.

"Why not?"

She scrunched up her face and shook her head.

"You've been dying to say it all week, Alice."

"You won't like it."

"Just tell me."

She sighed and gazed at me intently. "I saw two possible paths for Bella on the night you left. The first led to her death, though I think you may have changed that today."

The second, she showed me without words. The vision was hazy, but one image repeated clearly: herself and Bella, arm-in-arm, laughing together, the best of friends. Therein lay dozens, maybe hundreds of future permutations, all depending on the choices of the players involved.

Among them was one that chilled and horrified me more than I could describe. In that vision, Bella turned from Alice's embrace slightly, smiling as if in greeting. Sunlight sparkled off her skin like a thousand shattered diamonds, and she bore the crimson irises of a newly born vampire.

I stared at my sister, speechless―who knows for how long?

"Because of me," I finally choked.


	4. Spy

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**I would like to thank FarAway Rose for her comments, and also introduce my brand new beta, the lovely Lezlee, who I had the good luck to be assigned to through Project Team Beta. I've known her for only a short time, but I can already tell that we are kindred spirits.**

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

Behind Blue Eyes – The Who  
Spies – Coldplay

* * *

**SPY**

"Are you finished?" Alice asked, surveying the devastation. "Have you destroyed everything in sight?"

I could only reel at the tides of shock that continued to rage within me.

"Maybe you'd like to demolish Carlisle's study now?" she offered.

She watched, impassive, while I kicked over another pile of books. Loose paper fluttered out the window, into the dark forest.

It was appalling. It was unthinkable that after fighting so hard, that I could really be capable of… _I would not!_

When I finally found my voice, it was strangled. "How could you do this, Alice?"

"I didn't do anything. I can't control what I see."

"Have you no _fucking_ idea what it means?"

"Don't you swear at me!"

"_Jesus Christ_," I swore, anyway.

"I knew this would happen," she muttered. "That's why I only told Carlisle. But, thanks to your little tantrum, everybody knows now."

It didn't surprise me that she had told him. He was the only other member of the family who could keep his thoughts from me. But how could he have remained silent about this?

I had another string of epithets ready, but recoiled at a splintering sound beneath me. Disaster. My stupid great foot had landed in the middle of my precious first-edition copy of _Houses of the Holy_, autographed by Jimmy Page, splitting it in two.

The shock cleared my vision. I had razed my room.

Alice verged on laughter at the absurd sight; I know she did. She stamped her own foot instead.

"It's one possibility, Edward. One! Tell me what else you saw." She didn't let me answer. "You saw her as one of our family. She's meant to be with you-"

"Which means she's as good as dead," I finished.

More shards of vinyl revealed the death of _The Birth of Cool_. I sank down amongst the debris, rubbing my head.

The twelve-string, at least, was undamaged. It stood sentinel, intact and upright in the corner, apart from the detritus of books, journals, CD cases and, oh no… the stereo. How had I stripped all that wiring out? And the curtain rod had gouged a great hole in the plaster when it came off the wall. Esme was really going to kill me.

The flippant thought brought Alice's visions before me once again. The anger and hopelessness spiraled down.

In the midst of the maelstrom, she was dogged. "Trust you to focus on the negative. It doesn't have to be that way, and you know it."

"How else could it end? A human, Alice? It's beyond ludicrous!"

I knew how badly she wanted another sister, but this didn't just cross all the lines, it pole-vaulted straight over them, ripped up the treaty, and stomped on its shredded remains. I told her so, but she remained stubborn.

"I've seen what I've seen. One way or another, she belongs with us."

"You're only seeing what you want to see," I challenged.

Of course she was. Her visions changed as much to her own whims as they did to the decisions of those she watched. Obstinate though she may have been, she was very, very wrong this time.

"What are you thinking?" she finally probed.

"I think you're crazy. I don't even know this girl."

"But, you're drawn to her."

Indeed, that could not be denied. It was the predatory instinct that drew me to Bella, first and foremost.

Yet Alice disregarded that important fact as mere trivia. "What happened today proves it."

"It proves nothing. I would have done the same for anyone."

"Would you, really?"

Despite myself, her question gave me pause. Had any of the other students been in the path of that van, would I truly have acted as I did? Would I have done the same had Tyler been in danger? I couldn't honestly say that I would.

Alice stopped speaking, but her thoughts whirred incessantly, insistently. It was impossible to be near her at that moment. I needed to get away, and for that I needed a purpose. I extricated my jacket; the keys were still in a pocket.

"Now where are you going?"

"On damage control. This is _my fault_, after all." I threw that out for Rosalie's benefit. Alice was right; they all knew. They were all listening.

"Jackass," Alice muttered to herself, watching me jump to the ground. _If he thinks I'm going to help clean this up, he's got another think coming…_

I was thankful her thoughts receded into the silence of the night. The short drive into Forks calmed me somewhat.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since morning, yet it was barely past eight o'clock. Most of the businesses on the avenue were already closed for the night. I expected that the police station, around the corner on East Division, would be too.

My intent was to break and enter. I had to read the accident reports and witness statements for myself. If anyone else had even thought they'd seen me stop the van, then we were all in trouble. There was no question of destroying the files, but perhaps they could be doctored somehow?

It should have been a quick visit, a five-minute job, but there was a complication. The back office was lit. Someone was still at work.

I parked around the corner, listening, but my concentration was off. Alice's prediction loomed like a great weight – awful, unthinkable - making the thoughts of the human within barely audible.

It was raining once more; I didn't want to leave the car, but I had no choice. I tried huddling in the shadows of the small parking garage, but could hear no better. I ended up squatting behind a hedge, right under the office window. Luckily, the vegetation hid me from sight of any passersby in the alley. Unluckily, the blocked drainpipe I was sitting next to chose that moment to rupture, sending a torrent of water out the side. I watched a small lake rise over my feet. Resigned, I took off my shoes and socks and rolled up my jeans.

Had I paid closer attention, I could have saved myself a soaking. The muted thoughts of that human male should have provided the very obvious clue that the occupant was not just anyone; it was Chief Swan. The silhouette thrown against the venetian blinds was distinct, as was the resin-like scent wafting through the slightly open window. Today, of all days! Why wasn't he at home with Bella? Didn't he have a deputy, or something?

When he'd arrived at the accident scene, his thoughts had been difficult to hear, something I'd attributed to panic. Yet even at this proximity, they were so muffled – the only way to describe them was to liken them to sounds under water. If Bella had inherited that trait, had it somehow been augmented to the point where her mind was silent?

I could make out his annoyance about being called back to work, and his exhaustion after the stressful day, but there were petty, criminal matters on the docket that required follow-up. He did have a deputy. Actually, there were two, but one was on holiday, and the other had gone to Port Angeles to serve as an expert witness.

He grumbled something about cutbacks, and, through his mind, I saw him write the note: 'Brought forward, juvenile court, February 11th' on one of the files; on another, 'Not enough evidence'.

After about ten minutes, he made a phone call. His voice was warm.

"Hey, Hon. How're you feeling...? Good, good… Yeah, I'll be finished up here pretty quick, I think. Should be on my way in about half an hour or so."

_Half an hour was quick?_

"You didn't have to do that. Why didn't you take it easy like Dr. Cullen told you?"

"Well, as long as you felt up to it…"

She had made a comment about taking it easy tomorrow instead, and getting out of gym. He chuckled at a brief picture of her sitting smugly beside a basketball court while another girl fell down.

"Uh-huh. Did your mom get a hold of you?"

Her mother had left two messages, and then called again after Bella got home.

"Well, of course she's worried. She's your mom… Oh, she is not! Bells..," _Why does she hate it that we're concerned?_ he wondered. _She's always been like this._

"Anyway." He broached a new subject, "I talked to Dr. Cullen again this afternoon, and mentioned that I'd like to, uh, do something for Edward for…"

He couldn't say it. The arrow of pain that shot through him when he remembered Bella's brush with death was so vivid that I felt it too.

"He said it wasn't necessary, but maybe if you see Edward at school tomorrow..?"

I was glad that Carlisle hadn't mentioned anything about this. It would have been the height of hypocrisy to accept a reward from Chief Swan. Had he known the truth about me, he would have had me arrested and cast into the dark hole of solitary confinement. He would have thrown away the key.

"Okay. Well, you put your feet up, Sweetie. I'll be home soon. Love you. Bye."

Now that I was accustomed to their patterns, his thoughts were easier to hear. Once focused on Bella, they came out in a loud rush.

_It'll be better for her once Renée and Phil get settled, he decided. Girl that age needs her mom around. She's got no friends here; spends too much time alone…_

_I'm not much good to her, always working..._

_Wish we had stuff in common that we could do together, but I'd probably just embarrass her…_

_But I'll miss her when she's gone. I only just got her back._

She had come to Forks "to spend some quality time with Charlie", that was what she had told me the other day. Was this not to be a permanent move, then? I felt the arrow stab once more at the thought of her going away. Brushing the unwanted sentiment aside, I wondered at his harsh self-criticism. He seemed like a good father to me.

I waited under the dripping eaves while he completed the remaining paperwork. How many nights during the Depression had I passed in this fashion, haunting police stations, searching for information about my victims, monsters that were barely more human than I was? Too many to bear thinking about. But Bella was not going to become my victim. It wouldn't happen. It couldn't.

During the interim, he grabbed a cup of coffee, only to throw it out because it had been sitting on the burner too long. He pondered the chances of the Mariners making it to the World Series this year, and then considered going fishing with his friend, Harry, on the weekend. That led to immediate guilt for not spending enough time with his daughter. He gave no thought to the accident or to my involvement in Bella's rescue.

Thirty-nine interminable minutes later, he stood up, rubbing a sore spot on his lower back.

"Gettin' old, Charlie," he muttered, shutting the window.

He turned off the lights and left through the front door, setting the alarm as he exited. I didn't have to watch him program the code. It would be easy to work it out by the strength of the scents on the number pad, as the code to disarm it would be. Modern technology had made breaking and entering much less tedious than during the bad old days when I was forced to pick locks or spin combinations.

Once inside, I moved through the office so quickly that the motion sensors picked up nothing. There was no infra-red glow, nor was there the whir of a hidden camera in the chief's office when I entered, seconds later. There was no computer on his desk, either, which was surprising. The lack of interior security, no doubt, was another result of cutbacks.

His scent was strongest on the grey cabinet under the window. Obviously, those were the criminal matters he had just been looking at. There was another cabinet behind the desk, a black one, where the scent was several hours old. The accident reports were filed there. The lock was a bit sticky; it was hard to pick without breaking it.

There were three related files. Leafing through them left me satisfied that none of the witnesses had noticed anything untoward about my presence at the accident scene. Carlisle had signed two of them as the attending physician for Bella and Tyler. And, judging by the preliminary insurance report, Tyler was right to worry about his parents' reaction when they found out that he had totaled the van. Their rates were about to skyrocket.

I felt a huge weight lift off me as I walked out the front door and re-programmed the alarm code. It was not a particularly imaginative sequence, by the way. It was probably something easy to remember, like a birth date.

My family would be all right for now; I could feel it. Once again, I was thankful for the short attention span of human beings. As long as Bella kept quiet, today's events would rapidly fade from the collective memory of the witnesses, and none of my family members would be tempted to defy Carlisle and take matters into their own hands. She would be safe.

There was a complication, however. My socks and shoes were not where I'd left them at the back of the building. A quick search turned up first one sock, and then the other under some nearby bushes, but my shoes were nowhere to be found. It was impossible that I'd absent-mindedly thrown them in the dumpster, but I checked it anyway. Of course they weren't there, but where could they be?

I mentally kicked myself for my inattention. How fitting that the criminal should, in turn, become the victim of crime. I'd heard the faint rustling outside while I perused the files, but hadn't thought anything of it. There had been no shadow thrown against the window, nor any particular scent given off. The rain had now washed any incriminating tracks off the cement. I could only hope that whoever had taken them appreciated that he or she had scored some quality footwear.

I very much doubted it.

The main street was dark and quiet when I drove back through town. Apart from the streetlamps, the only light to be seen was thrown from the doorway of the one hardware store that still remained open.

There was a pickup parked on the kerb nearby. That, in itself, was not unusual, but the fact that it _reeked _wasmost definitely out of the ordinary. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my nostrils flare in disgust.

The further down the street I drove, the more the air became polluted by the maddenly foul stench emanating from within that truck ― one that triggered an instinct to violently attack its occupants. Irritated, I wiped at the venom flowing onto my lower lip.

_Who let the dogs out? _That was Emmett's standing joke.

Why did the entire tribe still smell like that? Not just them ― their land, and everything they touched was tainted, and the stink had become appreciably stronger in recent months. It was almost like… no, that was impossible. The gene had died out generations ago.

I could see a child of about fourteen helping an old man into the driver's seat now. He seemed familiar; they both did. Mine was the only other car on the road, and the purr of the engine caused them to look up as I passed. The child's glance was cursory, momentarily admiring the sleek lines of the Volvo, nothing more. He slung a folded wheelchair into the bed of the truck, and walked around to the passenger's side.

The man's glance became an unwavering, baleful glare as I drove by, and I knew then why he was familiar to me. He had attended the ceremony when we'd re-signed the treaty with the Quileutes three years ago.

Though the ravages of diabetes had aged and crippled him since, it had not diminished the strong resemblance he bore to his grandfather, who had been chief when we'd lived in Hoquiam seventy years ago. Billy Black's thoughts were crystal-clear, and his thin lips echoed them exactly as he muttered a single word:

"Parasite."

I returned his glare, not bothering to stifle the growl in my chest. Forks was neutral territory, and I had as much right to be on this ground as he did. Nevertheless, it was apparent that the old prejudices died hard ― on both sides of the line.

When I arrived home, my sweet, long-suffering sister waited for me in the drive. She held out a black garbage bag almost as big as she was.

"I think you're missing a couple of volumes," she predicted, sadly. "Some of them made it into the river before I could catch them."

"No one's ever going to read those stupid journals, anyway," I told her. "It's self-indulgent rubbish. May as well burn it."

"I went to all that trouble for nothing?" she asked in mock indignation.

I slung my arm around her shoulder as we walked back to the house; she had left me enough of my own mess to clean up.

"What did you find out?" she asked.

"Carlisle's right: we don't need to worry for now. We just have to make sure Bella keeps her word."

She was pleased to hear that, but she was ashamed, too. "I'm sorry I upset you before. I should have picked my moment better."

I shrugged; what was there to say? Still, I had to know. "Have you seen anything different?"

"No. And, I'm sorry about that, too."

"It can't happen, Alice. I won't let it."

"I know…" But her attention drifted, lost amongst her visions. As we approached the front porch, the corner of her mouth turned up.

"I just have to ask, though: why are you barefoot?"

"All the better for sneaking," I told her. Some indignities were just not worth mentioning.

No one said anything on the drive to school the next morning, but the thoughts of the others spoke volumes.

_It's obscene, that's what it is. His own kind's not good enough for him – _I_ was never good enough for him. And Alice, playing match-maker for her favourite brother… Disgusting!_

It was only Emmett's presence that stopped me from throwing Rosalie out of the car. He didn't need to know what his wife was thinking right now. He just patted her knee as she growled and glowered, and I bit my tongue.

Jasper sat up front, apart from Alice, wondering why she hadn't confided her secret in him before she told me. I was on a roll, that was certain. I'd managed to put a wedge between all the members of my family, save Esme and Carlisle.

I'd expected to have words with Carlisle last night, too – or come as close to that as he and I ever did - but it didn't happen. His guilt for keeping Alice's visions secret from me was plain. He didn't have to explain his reasons, but he was ever the indulgent father figure.

_You know her visions are subjective at the best of times. I didn't want to burden you with the speculation. You had enough to deal with. _It was heartening to hear that.

_However_, he went on, in light of what happened today, _there might be some validity in her foresight_.

"I won't break the treaty Carlisle. She won't become one of us."

_That's not what I was referring to._ He stared out the window for a moment. His gaze was sharp when it returned to me.

_Tell me, how does Bella make you feel?_

"Besides the obvious?" He nodded. "… Unsettled." There was no apt word.

_Go on…_

"I don't know… Curious?"

_Because you can't read her mind?_

"Yes, but there's more." So much more that I couldn't begin to describe it to him.

_I watched you at the hospital this morning. I saw what her scent did to you._

"It affected you too," I reminded him.

_To an extent_, he agreed. _But you didn't have to be there. You could have gone home._

I hesitated. "I wanted to make sure that she was all right."

_You are conscientious. _He smiled. _You also had ample opportunity to leave before she confronted you, yet you did not. Why do you think that was?_

I had to admit that I did not know.

_And tonight, why did you fight so hard against your siblings for her life?_

Again, I had no answer.

_It takes a great deal for us to experience real change in our lives; you know this._ He had said as much, many times.

_Meeting this girl has caused a change for you; of that, I have no doubt now_. He paused, choosing his words carefully. _You need to figure out whether the change has been for good or ill._

"But, how can Alice be right that a human was meant for me?"

_It troubles me_, he admitted. _But it's not without precedent_.

Of course not; he had set the precedent in the family himself. He had loved Esme while she was still human, as Rosalie had loved Emmett. Both of them were vampires now.

Then there were the Denali sisters… theirs was a precedent I would rather not follow.

"I just don't see it, Carlisle."

He clapped my shoulder in gentle dismissal. _We'll talk more about this_, he predicted.

As I left his study, he was pondering an Italian idiom that I was unfamiliar with, one he wanted to keep to himself. He shut his mind to me as quickly as he shut the door.

It goes without saying that I monitored every conversation Bella had at school that day, from the moment Mike Newton caught up with her in the quadrangle.

"Look at you, huh? You're _alive_!" he proclaimed, throwing his arms wide dramatically.

"Yeah." She flushed. "Amazing." She allowed him to take her books as they walked around the corner.

"I thought you were a goner, for sure. I couldn't believe it when they got you out."

"Me, either. It all happened so fast. But… Edward got to me in time. He managed to pull me out of the way."

"Cullen?" he said, resentfully. "I never saw him. Oh, wait!"- I froze, frightened for an instant of what he might have seen, then relaxed as he kept talking -"Yeah, I saw him at the hospital later. But you're okay, right? Nothing's broken?"

"Just a little bump on the head. Doesn't even hurt anymore."

"Wow." He shook his head. "Luck-ee."

"Lucky _Edward_ was passing by," she amended.

He shrugged, annoyed that she kept mentioning me. He was working up the courage to ask her out, but he couldn't for the life of him remember the name of that romantic comedy he thought she might like.

"Hey, you know that essay we're s'posed to write for English?" he tried changing the subject. "Did you get what Mr. Mason meant when he…"

But he was too slow; he lost his chance as Tyler accosted them, still wringing his hands over causing the accident. I fancied that they must be chapped red-raw by now.

"Hey, Bella. I really am sorry about yesterday."

Mike bristled at his approach, but Bella only looked mortified. "It's not your fault, Tyler. I'm Okay. Really." She sounded like she was already tired of repeating herself.

"I just feel so terrible about it," he protested, joining them on her other side. "If there's anything I can do – pay for your repairs, anything – please tell me."

_You can piss the hell off_, Mike thought, grinding his teeth.

"That won't be necessary," she replied, patiently. "My truck's pretty tough. A couple more dents won't hurt it. Are you okay, though?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, feigning bravery. "The bandages come off next week. Doctor says the scars'll fade in about a month." I was waiting for him to think, _Chicks dig scars._

Mike rolled his eyes. "Uh, Tyler? Don't you have football practice, or something?" he asked.

"Don't you?"

The reluctant threesome arrived at their classroom, cutting the tense little conversation short. I couldn't take any more of it anyway; all that teenage testosterone was beginning to make me nauseous.

Tyler continued to follow Bella around all week. In his obsession to make amends, he became her self-appointed lapdog, deluding himself that subjugation and servitude were the best ways to win her favour. It really was very strange how his mind worked. He joined the flank of boys who sat at her lunch table, much to the mystification of Jessica and Angela, and the extreme annoyance of Mike and Eric. They were even less friendly to him than they were to each other.

Eavesdropping on her through the minds of her friends was irritating. I could never be sure how much she held back when she spoke to them. My impression was that she edited a lot. Nevertheless, when I listened in on Jessica during their Trig class, it was obvious they had already spoken about the accident at length, and that she was just grilling for more gossip.

"Oh, my God, Bella! I just couldn't sleep last night. I kept seeing it all in my head, over and over."

"Yeah, I had a bit of trouble sleeping, too," she replied. A little worried crease appeared on her forehead in her mirror image in Jessica's mind.

"You know, you probably have post-traumatic stress. How come your dad made you come to school today?"

"He didn't make me. There's nothing wrong with me, so there was no point staying home."

_Oh, get a life_, Jessica thought, but what she said was, "I _so_ would have made my parents keep me home. I mean, it's not like you're missing anything."

Bella looked around quickly. "I kind of wish I had, now. Tyler won't stop trying to make it up to me. He's getting annoying."

Jessica smirked when Bella looked away. _What is it with guys and that whole damsel-in-distress thing, anyway? _she wondered.

"So, did you see your life pass before your eyes, and stuff, when it happened?"

"No, nothing like that. I saw Tyler's van coming, and then it was like everything else happened at the same time. But I could see it all very clearly."

"Ooh, like an out-of-body experience?"

"More like watching TV." She frowned. "It's hard to explain."

"Well, we're all really glad you're okay, Bella."

"Thanks to Edward."

"Yeah, Mike told me that he supposedly pulled you out of the way," She tried to sound blasé, "but I didn't see him there until they moved the van."

"Um, he was standing right next to me. He was almost crushed, too."

"Really? Did he say anything to you?"

Bella looked confused. "When?"

"Never mind." She shrugged. "Huh. One day you think he hates you, the next he's your knight-in-shining-armor. He is so weird."

"You got that right."

In the cafeteria, too, she repeated her story to everyone who asked, making me look like the hero, but conveniently leaving out the important details.

"…Like I said, he was passing by. Right place at the right time, I guess."

Mike cursed himself for running late yesterday as he, Angela, and Tyler shot a unified, skeptical glance across the room at me.

"I still swear I didn't see him," Tyler said, shaking his head.

_So, what's the scoop?_ Emmett asked, noticing their stares.

"She's sticking to the same story. Not a word about me stopping the van."

He raised one eyebrow and nodded; Rosalie and Jasper looked incredulous; and Alice just looked smug. They had no reason to doubt me.

I was no longer worried about what Emmett would do. Once he was satisfied that we were under no threat of exposure, he would forget his aggression very quickly. He didn't hold grudges. I knew too, that Alice was already working Jasper over, and that he would back off eventually. Alice was minding her own agenda, though – one I didn't quite trust. And Rosalie? Let's just say that she was tenacious.

I couldn't believe that Bella was keeping her word, either. It was my experience that humans were predictable: they _never_ did what they promised. But she had so far proved herself completely unpredictable, and that meant she was trouble. More than that, she seemed to _attract _trouble. First, there was me. Compared with the danger that I represented, the accident had been mere bad luck. But if the adage was true, and disasters were supposed to come in threes, then what was next? I didn't want to think about that.

However, I had been the one to put the family in danger in the first place; therefore it was my duty to ensure that she kept her word. Beyond that, I intended to stay as far away from her as I could. If I could keep myself out of her life, it might better her odds of surviving the school year.

Needless to say, I was not in the best frame of mind when she sat down next to me that afternoon. I didn't trust her, and I couldn't encourage her to trust me, either. I didn't dare look at her.

"Hello Edward," she said, sounding inordinately pleased with herself.

What did she expect - a round of applause for good behaviour? I was supposed to brush the rescue off as an adrenaline rush or something equally far-fetched now, was I? She'd been adamant about what she saw yesterday. She couldn't have guessed the truth, but still…

It was awful. I did very much want to talk to her, if only to let her know that I was no savior for her. But it was impossible to do that without eliciting questions, the answers to which would bring further questions. She needed to stay away from me for her own good. It was the only way.

So I acknowledged her briefly – it would have been rude not to - and resumed staring out the window. The hurt and disappointment on her face was plain, but there could be no fraternization. There could be no discussion, no opening for her to offer that reward from her father. She would hate me for a while but she would move on and live the rest of her life safely.

And that was the last contact I had with her though she was in that class, a foot away from me, every day. I watched her a lot – from a distance though, or when her attention was occupied. Once in a while, I would catch her throwing me surreptitious glances too, but less and less so as time passed. Eventually, even Rosalie stopped grumbling about it.

Life resumed more-or-less normal patterns quite quickly. There had been no tragedy to occupy the students' minds; Bella was fine, and Tyler was on the mend. To my relief, after the first few days, no one was interested in my account of the accident, either. My family and I resumed our status as comfortable pariahs.

But for me, normality existed on the surface only. Carlisle was right that I had experienced a great change. For want of a better metaphor, I felt like a cheap snow globe that had been shaken up and thrown across the room. I had been lucky to land right side up, but the pieces on the inside were not falling back into place.

I would have been all right. I could have kept up the façade, had Bella not rapidly wormed her way under my skin. To put it bluntly, my battle against her was lost before it had even begun.


	5. Charmed

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Many thanks to my brilliant beta, Lezlee. You rock, girl!**

* * *

**Playlist:  
**Nature Boy – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds  
Uninvited – Alanis Morissette

* * *

**CHARMED**

High school.

No longer was it my form of sleep. Never had I been more awake than during the hours I now spent in that place. Awake and vigilant.

Two weeks after the accident, Bella remained true to her word. She had not told anyone about how I had saved her life. Though my family members were no longer anxious that our secret would be exposed, I remained a nervous wreck.

I monitored her, scrupulously. I knew what time each morning the red truck would pull into the parking lot. I knew that she returned her library books first thing, and would study there before home room. I knew that she preferred to dip her french fries in mayonnaise rather than ketchup. I knew that she liked pickles. And I knew precisely how long it took her to walk from the cafeteria to the science wing, so that I could get to the lab before she did.

I could have played truant more frequently. It wasn't as if my grades would have been affected. Instead, every day I took early leave of my siblings so that I could brace my nervous system for the sensory onslaught her blood wrought upon it. Time had done little to desensitize me, but I had at least learned how to prepare myself.

During the intervening weeks, I had discovered something else. I had learned to anticipate the after burn, the balm that soothed the fire when that glorious scent that was just her washed over me. I knew when that delicious moment would come; it kept me from the edge every single time. I had thought, at first, that it was like lavender, but the subtle citrus notes were more akin to freesia. Yes, it was definitely freesia.

There were times when her blush nearly ruined me. There were others when it was pleasing, like when she reluctantly volunteered the correct answer to a question that had stumped the other students. She was clever, but she seemed to hate the attention garnered by the teacher's praise.

Her presence today was notable by its very absence. I wasn't surprised she hadn't shown up by the time the late bell rang. She had incubated a virus for several days, presenting all the signs of imminent illness yesterday: elevated temperature; unusually flushed cheeks; bright, watery eyes; and, much to my consternation, a sore throat that she kept massaging in a particularly distracting manner.

It was a relief not to engage in the pitiful charade of ignoring her. After a few moments though, I couldn't keep my attention from straying to the vacant seat on my right. Three students had occupied that place during the last twenty-four hours, but her scent was so distinct that I could still pick up its lingering vestiges. It was not enough to trigger the chafing thirst, for which I was grateful, though nor did it prompt the ensuing rush that I waited for. It merely left me… wanting….

Looking back, it's obvious what was happening to me, even at that early stage. Why else was I already so determined to protect her from the clumsy advances of those boys at school? It irritated me that they were almost as acutely aware of Bella as I always was. The way they objectified her! They were like rams vying for the rut.

And it wasn't just the boys, either. Her male teachers were affected by her presence as well. Biology was the only class we shared, so I could only observe the way Mr. Banner treated her.

He bustled in, briefcase in one hand, a teetering pile of books and loose papers in the other. He hadn't gotten around to marking the previous day's genetics quiz, nor had he planned enough material for the lesson at hand, he realized with chagrin. Coasting towards retirement, it was easier just to fill the void by engaging the students in a round of peer marking than to bother introducing a new concept. He passed the papers back, in no particular order.

What was that little joke that Bella had made last Friday when Tyler approached her for some last minute coaching? (Coaching, indeed! He was so obvious).

"You know how to tell the sex of a chromosome, don't you?" she had asked him, her face deadly serious.

"Um..." _Banner didn't say that'd be on the test_. I felt a wave of guilt rise in him when she said the word 'sex'; he had just tried to look down her blouse.

"You pull down its genes," she laughed, blushing. "Lame, huh?"

The joke wasn't funny, but I liked that quiet chuckle. It was so different from the hysterical giggle of the other girls.

Speaking of hysteria, Ashley Dowling's inner squeal of glee was heard by no one but me when she received the quiz that she was to mark. It brought me back to the moment.

If Jessica Stanley was president of the Mike Newton Fan Club, then Ashley was chief cheerleader. The backs of her binders were decorated with hearts containing the initials "A.D. + M.N. 4 Ever". She had also scrawled it, in lipstick, on the mirror in her locker.

Ashley was a member of that group of junior girls responsible for festooning the school in garish pink and purple hearts in preparation for Valentine's Day. They had patrolled the hallways for two weeks selling roses to fund the junior prom's organizing committee. She was anxious that the shipment would not arrive from the flower shop on time on Friday morning.

And whose quiz would it to be my chore to mark? I recognized the barely legible scrawl. Lucky me, I had Doug Coupland's paper. The dolt shared his name with a contemporary author of note; unfortunately, this fact made him neither interesting nor personable. Frankly, Doug was an ass.

There'd been one like him in every high school I'd attended: the continually disruptive, show-off who was hauled in to detention every other week. He probably got caught smoking in the automotive shop at some point; in fact, I'm sure he did. What glitch with the timetabling had allowed him into my biology class, I never knew.

No one liked to sit next to Doug either, but the other children didn't unconsciously fear him as they did me. He was just so damned irritating. When he was stoned, he hummed off-key Nirvana tunes in gradually increasing volume, until the teacher could take no more, and turfed him out.

The less than dulcet tones issuing from that boy's mouth would have caused Kurt Cobain to rise from the grave. In fact, I occasionally amused myself by imagining an enraged zombie Cobain breaking through the soil and lurching after him, left-handed guitar brandished in ire. It's a pity there are no such things as zombies.

I uncapped the wicked red pen I kept for moments like these. What was this? Surely he hadn't studied? One or two answers were actually correct, though his certainty that humans possessed twenty-five pairs of chromosomes rather than twenty-three amused me. At the top of the paper I wrote a large letter "F" and the comment, "Very poor effort."

I digress; I mention Doug for a reason. For, like the other boys, Bella was the shiny new toy dangled in his line of sight.

She walked right into the incident that got him to notice her. It wasn't her fault; nobody had warned her to leave him alone.

He had dropped a couple of tabs of ecstasy before class, and everyone could tell it was kicking in. He was warming up his voice with a rendition of "Come as You Are".

"Shut up, Doug." He dodged the empty pop can that sailed through the air towards him but would not be silenced.

"Ugh, not again." I heard Bella whisper.

Scowling, she pulled a novel out of her backpack, and opened it at random. Hadn't she just finished reading _Wuthering Heights_? The pages of that book were dog-eared, and pulling away from the spine.

Doug ended his first number, and began to hum another. _Poor Kurt_, I lamented.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she hissed.

As he struggled to get through the second verse, Bella surprised me. The book slammed to the desk, and her stool scraped backwards. She stalked to the back of the room, hands on hips. I watched what followed in my peripheral vision.

Glowering at him, she demanded, "If you're going to sing, _a cappella_, could you at least do it in tune?"

She was as intimidating as an angry budgie, though I was impressed she'd used the musical term correctly.

Doug couldn't believe his good luck. He gaped, open-mouthed for two full seconds.

"Aw, 's'up, Arizona?" he bawled, grabbing one of her curls and pulling it straight.

"Boing!" he yelled, delighted to watch it spring back into shape.

She gasped. A couple of the students closest to the action snickered.

How could he just paw at her like that? Couldn't he see how fragile she was? Yet I envied his casual touch. I had been watching the light play on her curls just moments before. How silky they must have been between his fingers.

"Don't," she murmured, tucking her hair behind her other shoulder, hunching protectively. What would he have done had I stepped between them?

He just leered at her. "Hey, Bella," he drawled, in what he thought was a sexy voice. "Do you party?"

I didn't want Bella to attend the type of party he had in mind. He was disgusting.

"All right, seats, people!" Mr. Banner's order saved her from answering. She did an about face and slunk back to our lab table, hand shading her eyes.

"Baby, don't leave," Doug moaned plaintively, grinning.

The next day, she came to school with her hair blow-dried straight. It was the first and only time. It must have taken a long time to style it that way. The shine was nice, though the faint smell of chemicals was off-putting. I missed the curl. Indeed, the humidity soon coaxed the little waves back, and she tucked it into a ponytail once more.

If she hadn't been beforehand, she was well and truly on Doug's radar now. That day, and almost every day since, as soon he saw her he would yell:

"BELL-LA! Oh, BELL-LA!"

Sometimes, he would embellish it with, "I sing, A CAPELLA, for you BELL-LA! Beautiful BELL-LA!"

You can imagine his delight when he figured out that her name rhymed with several varieties of cheese and ham.

"I'm not even Italian," she groaned, casting her burning face into her latest book. She looked like she wanted to die.

That little anxious crease that appeared between her eyes transfixed me once again. I wanted to smooth it away with my thumb.

Mr. Banner had kept Bella's test to mark for himself.

_That's my girl_, he thought. _Ninety-five percent. Why can't the rest of them apply themselves like that?_

As if his tutelage had played any part in her success. If anything, she had succeeded despite him.

My own quiz came back with "100%!" in flowery handwriting at the top of the page. I snorted, half-expecting the girl to wink and wave at me. Everyone conformed to their little stereotypes here. So boring…

When Bella was in school, at least my mind was occupied. She was never boring. She was like no one else I had ever met. Those weeks that I was supposedly ignoring her, I was actually studying her. It was strange the way the line between vigilance blurred with the fascination that she already held for me. I'm not quite sure when it happened.

My hunger for her blood terrified me. Yet her vulnerability, coupled with that painful clumsiness, made me protective of her. To this day, I have never encountered anyone as self-conscious as she was back then.

There was one excruciating incident that I witnessed in the cafeteria. She merely got up to stack her tray. One of her backpack straps snagged on the chair as she walked away, jerking her backwards in mid-stride. That would have been embarrassing enough but of course the cutlery and plates flew forwards, hitting the cement floor, making a huge racket.

Applause and wolf whistles followed the shocked silence. Mike and Angela attempted to help her but that just made it worse. Even the tips of her ears went red.

_What a spazz_, thought Lauren Mallory, watching her crawl under the table to retrieve a cup.

Though I felt badly for her, I admit that I laughed a little. I had to turn away.

"You never told me your girlfriend was a comedian," commented Emmett.

I didn't like his smug grin.

"She's not my girlfriend."

My retort was too quick. His grin became a knowing smile.

* * *

It was in the middle of February that we first heard about them. The news story, on cable broadcast from Detroit, was typically sensationalistic.

"A double homicide in Duluth overnight may be linked to some grisly killings near Thunder Bay nearly a month ago. The bodies of George and Cherise Howard were discovered yesterday by their daughter, who visited the home after several phone calls went unreturned."

Photos of the unfortunates in happier, livelier times plastered the screen: first a retired couple, then a mother, father and their young daughter. In the next scene, a blonde reporter stood on the shore of a frozen lake, a cabin with yellow tape plastered across the verandah visible in the background.

"The Coleman family reportedly spent the Christmas break at their cabin here on Lake Superior. RCMP was contacted when none of them returned to either work or school after the New Year. It's estimated that the deaths occurred nearly a week before the bodies were discovered.

"The victims were not known to each other, but the patterns of mutilation and subsequent exsanguinations are nearly identical, pointing the finger at a ritualistic killer, or killers."

"Ritualistic!" Emmett snorted.

"Clothing, cash, and jewellery were also taken from the homes. Fingerprints found at the Thunder Bay scene are so far, unidentifiable. Police on both sides of the border are now cooperating to solve what has become an international murder investigation . . . "

Esme shook her head, sorrowfully. "That poor little girl . . . "

The footage switched back and forth between the bloody remnants of both crime scenes, and grieving family members. We all knew what we had seen. The slash marks on the victims' arms and necks were not knife wounds. The perpetrators were either new to the life or extremely thirsty, but why would they risk killing so conspicuously?

"They're not in any hurry," Carlisle noted. "They waited in the forest for the trail to grow cold." He then noticed the faraway look on Alice's face. "What do you make of this?"

She closed her eyes and concentrated for a long time. "I see a pair. Sometimes, they travel with a third. They may cross our path one day . . . or maybe they won't." She was embarrassed. "Sorry. That's not very helpful, is it?" It was the truth, though. Though our numbers were few, our long life spans made it inevitable that we'd encounter these beings eventually.

"I wonder why they didn't move to a bigger city after the first feeding? Do you have any sense of where they're going?"

"Nowhere, in particular. They're exploring and they're easily distracted." And like all hunters, they were opportunists.

"Hm . . . Let me know if anything changes." he advised.

Though we perceived no immediate threat, it paid to watch their activities closely. Nomadic vampires were mercurial creatures. One or two had stayed with us in Alaska over the years, curious about our lifestyle but always unable to commit to it in the end. Kate's current boyfriend, for example, had been with our Denali cousins long enough for his irises to start changing from red to amber. I wondered how long he would last.

It may surprise the outsider to learn how often members of our kind are responsible for the atrocities featured in the daily newscasts. The Volturi take it upon themselves to act as a police force of sorts, putting a stop to undesirable activities of this kind before they draw too much attention from humans.

Usually, they are very good at what they do. Their form of justice is quick and brutal – my father and my brother could attest to that. Both had witnessed it firsthand. There have been incidents over the millennia when they failed to act quickly enough. The plague of the eternal children and the Mexican wars loom large in our folklore. My brother Jasper, my Denali cousins, all of them bore mental and physical scars that proved folklore has its basis in fact.

Suffice to say, it is always advisable to preempt a visit from the Volturi. We prepared to convince the interlopers to move on if necessary.

* * *

Wednesday came and went, and Bella was not in school. The red truck did not appear in the parking lot on Thursday morning, either. I resigned myself to the tedium.

"So you see folks, Shakespeare was actually making fun of love sonnets written by his contemporaries, most notably Sidney's use of the Petrarchan, or Italian sonnet. Does anybody remember how the Petrarchan form differs from the Shakespearean …?"

I liked Mr. Berty. He really did try. The students were all keyed up about Valentine's Day tomorrow, so the girls would enjoy this lesson, at any rate. But wouldn't they have squirmed had they known how many of these sonnets were actually written about the love of a young man, not a woman? Wouldn't that just have rocked their suburban little sensibilities?

Bella had made a joke about Shakespeare to Mike the other day. She had said that she didn't like _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ because the plot was asinine. Her jokes were terrible, actually. Mike had stared at her as though she were the Hydra. No doubt that inference would have gone over his head as well. Ugh, now I was the one making terrible jokes.

What kind of a teenager used words like _asinine_ and _a capella_? And what kind of a name was Isabella Marie Swan? For I had learned her full name when I broke in to the police station that night. In a sea of Jessicas, Jennifers, and Ashleys, it was yet one more thing to set her apart.

There was a character named Isabella in _Measure for Measure_. There was another in _Wuthering Heights_.

_Bella_: A diminutive. The feminine form of the Italian adjective _bello_, describing beauty.

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun…" More like endless pools of melted chocolate…

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day…?"

"Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, the uncertain sickly appetite to please…"

* * *

"Is there anything going on with the Cullen kids that I should know about?" I heard Mr. Banner ask Mrs. Cope in the cafeteria that day.

It was their turn to supervise that week, a task that had been added to the duties of all the academics and administrators since the well-deserved retirement last Christmas of Mrs. Grant, that unfortunate lady nicknamed the Lunch Bag.

Alice and Jasper stacked their trays, and took their time returning to our table, swinging their clasped hands back and forth. In the middle of the room, Alice paused and spun a neat little pirouette. Her smile was beautiful, but Jasper looked pained. I agreed with what he was thinking. I wished she wouldn't do things like that, either. People thought we were weird enough, already.

"Nothing I've heard about," Mrs. Cope replied, shaking her head at the little display she had just witnessed. "They keep pretty much to themselves, though. But, they've never been any trouble. Even the big one." She shuddered a little. "Why?"

He pursed his lips, thoughtfully. "I have the youngest in my fifth period Biology. I can't figure him out."

"Oh. Edward?" she simpered. _If I was thirty years younger…_ I shut her lewd thoughts out. I didn't want to know what she would have done to me thirty years ago.

"He's an odd kid. Well, they're all odd, but he's been different lately. Never pays a lick of attention any more. It's like he's in a daze. Sometimes, it looks like he wants to run outside and be sick."

"Really?"

Indeed, the effect Bella's blood had on me often triggered a 'flight or fight' response in my nervous system, though it was troubling how apparent my discomfort was. I should have given him more credit; as a trained educator, he had picked up on what perceived to be classic warning signs of disturbed behaviour.

"How are his grades?" was her next question.

"That's the thing. Straight As, as usual. He always has the correct answer when I call on him. Unfailingly."

"Who does he hang out with lately?" For a split second, she too wondered if I was on drugs.

Banner inclined his head in our direction. That was all Mrs. Cope needed to dismiss his assumption.

_I've heard this rumour before, she thought impatiently. Those kids all have a blood disorder, that's why they're so pale. Apparently, Dr. Cullen's some kind of specialist. That's why he adopted them…_

Yes, I supposed we did have a blood disorder of sorts.

"Edward's a good boy." Shelley Cope, my staunch defender, proclaimed loudly. _A good, beautiful boy… Stop it! You can't think of him like that._

My face betrayed nothing, but had I been human it would have flushed as scarlet as Bella's always did. As it was, four pairs of finely attuned ears heard her every word. My siblings were quite aware of Mrs. Cope's little crush; had they been able to hear her thoughts, I would never have lived it down.

She pulled herself together, and shrugged. "Maybe he's just bored. He tried to switch out of your class a couple of weeks ago, actually. Said he'd already covered the material at his school in Alaska. All of the advanced classes are full, though. You two didn't have a run-in, did you?"

"No." He glanced around. "He's just been so sullen. I thought you might know if there were any problems at the home."

"Well, he did seem pretty upset about something at the time. And then he was AWOL for the rest of that week. Which reminds me: we're still waiting for a note from his parents about that. Poor Dr. Cullen's probably been too busy…"

I made a note to forge something on Carlisle's stationery when I got home.

She decided that he was making mountains out of molehills. "I don't know, Bob: he's a teenager. Maybe he broke up with a girlfriend, or something?"

He chuckled. "Maybe his lab partner gave him the heave-ho. One day they were chatting up a storm, now he seems to have taken a real dislike to her."

"Oh dear. Who's that?"

"Isabella Swan. The new girl."

He was the only person who still called her by her full given name. And she would probably remain stuck with the 'new girl' moniker until the unlikely event that there was another addition to the student body.

"Oh, she's a sweetheart."

"Yes, quite bright, too." _Pretty little thing_, he added to himself.

If only they could have heard themselves. Administrators with crushes on their students. It wasn't the first time I had heard sentiments like this, and it was certainly not the first time I had heard them directed at Bella. They were usually harmless.

I was more concerned about the fact that staff was openly discussing me for the first time. Obviously, I would have to do a better job of flying under the radar.

Rosalie sighed, and stretched her arms in front of her. "Well, I need to grab a bite before class," her announced. "Anyone else want to hit the buffet?" That was our nickname for the national park.

My brothers' attack was merciless and unprovoked, but I guess I had left myself open for it.

"Edward should go. He's looking a bit peckish," Emmett decided.

"He could use some feeding up," Jasper agreed.

"Chase himself some tail…" Emmett winked.

"Ah, but the only tail Edward really likes is cougar."

"Well, he won't have to go far for that."

"No he won't. Not with Shelley on the prowl."

"Rawrr." Emmett curled his hands into claws and pounced for Jasper's neck.

"But, Edward's a good boy," Jasper mimicked, falsetto.

"I bet he's not. I bet he's a bad boy." Emmett grinned evilly.

"You never know with the quiet ones."

They were not finished with me yet.

"I bet Shelley likes bad boys. Do you think she likes to spank them?"

"Do you need to be spanked, Edward?"

Even Alice no longer hid her laughter

"Ingrates," I muttered, through clenched teeth. "Let's go, Rose."

"Bye-bye, now, " Jasper waved.

"Tell Shelley we said 'hi'."Emmett instructed, pleasantly.

Rosalie smirked. "You are utterly ridiculous," she told me.

The second attack was equally unprovoked, made all the more vicious because it was unintended. Blindsided, I staggered against the cool concrete wall.

"Are you alright?" someone asked in passing.

Why should I have expected it to be any different?

The sweet fragrance of that blood stunned me as hard as on that very first day. The venom rasped my dry throat. I choked it down, hating what she did to me, hating what I was.

Two days! It had only been two days!

And I had looked forward to her return. I had welcomed that respite from the waking somnolence that was my existence. How foolish!

How had I expected it to be any different? It would never be any different.

If I had not gone hunting, I would have known she had returned. I would have had time to prepare myself.

Thank God I had gone hunting. What if I had happened upon those two while thirsty? They were alone in that room. It would have taken no time to seal them in, to seal their fate. Was I still capable of such atrocity?

"So, that was a good effort, Bella. I think you've mastered the concept…"

His hand was on her shoulder. He saw me hesitate in the doorway for that fraction of a second.

"Oh. Hello, Edward. That time is it?" he made a show of pulling his hand away and glancing at his watch. "Sit down, sit down."

She was drawn and pale, even more so than usual. She wheezed a little. She was still congested. There were large circles under her eyes. Please tell me that wasn't fear I saw in them once more. Truly, I had just been surprised.

I struggled to walk steadily to the desk, wheezing through my own conflagrated throat.

_Just breathe. Wait for it. Keep breathing.…_

The relief was all the more sweet for its intensity. I rode the wave, thankful.

Bella jumped at my sigh. Mr. Banner threw me a speculative glance.

The other children filed into the room and took their seats.

Partner work was awkward at the best of times. The purpose of today's task was to assemble and correctly label the parts of a model of cell ultrastructure. I wouldn't allow myself to look at her face – the left side that I knew intimately by now. Instead, I watched her hands move the pieces into place. I had not forgotten their warmth from that inadvertent touch during the mitosis lab weeks ago. She chewed the cuticle of her thumb while she concentrated. All of her nails were bitten to the quick.

She broke up the pieces of the model and passed them to me without word or glance. Light reflected off the silver ring she wore on her left hand. The motif on the slim band was Navaho; the design depicted a frog. Some among the First Nations considered the frog to be a message-bearer, a spirit of communication. How ironic that this girl with the silent mind should choose that symbol. Was it purely a reminder of home or did it have deeper significance?

The silver-embossed leather wristband that I wore – that my brothers and I all wore – displayed the Cullen family crest. There was no question of its significance for me. Home. Family. Belonging. I rubbed my finger underneath it, scratching an imagined itch.

_Gorgeous kid. Makes it worth it, coming to work to…_

My head shot up.

Having the advantages I do, I learned long ago that people's thoughts do not always mirror their actions or their words, and there was something in Mr. Banner's gaze that turned my stomach. It bordered on adoration. Indeed, there had been a subtle shift in the tenor of his thoughts towards her recently. There was pride in the nurture of a bright student, but there was something else brewing underneath. He wasn't even aware of it.

An impulse rose in me that was primal, vicious. Its power was shocking. Its voice mimicked the killer that I still struggled so hard against, only this time its words were possessive. Protective.

_She's mine_.

My bile rose in response to the unvoiced undercurrent of his feelings. Feelings that were altogether... inappropriate. They hadn't crossed any lines. They wouldn't, and I could hardly murder him for his thoughts. Still, he had no right!

I didn't realize that I was glaring at him until his eyes met mine.

_Jesus! What's up with him?_ He began to shuffle the papers on his desk, guiltily. _Definitely on something_, he decided.

Bella appeared intent on filling out her worksheet, though her hand shook slightly. A stray lock of her hair had fallen forward in a perfect corkscrew curl. I resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear. For that also, would have been highly inappropriate.

* * *

The next day was Valentine's Day. How strange it was.

Overt displays of affection made me uncomfortable in a way they never had before. Upon pulling into the parking lot, there was a pair of students walking past, holding hands. And there was another, exchanging tokens of affection, and still others embracing.

And there went my siblings before me, two by two, arm in arm, to their first classes of the day. I'd never begrudged them their happiness before, and I didn't now. Theirs had been mine―for a long time providing the only emotional sustenance I required. If ever I desired more, I was sure to find it in literature and the arts. I'd felt complete in myself―even a little superior― dismissing their need for one another as weakness. I'd been content to live an ascetic life.

But I felt off-kilter today, like I'd forgotten something . . . an important item I could not retrieve. Ahead of me, Jasper took Alice by the hand, and I felt my own fingers clench reflexively―as if around a phantom limb. With a start, I realized what it was that was missing.

For the first time in my life, I was lonely.

Ashley Dowling approached, a bucket of red roses in one hand, change purse in the other.

"Would you like to buy a rose for your valentine? Only two dollars each. Proceeds go to a good cause."

I had absolutely no interest in funding their dance, yet I found myself purchasing one.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" she wished me when I told her to keep the change. _Wow, that's fifty bucks this morning, already..._

I suppose I bought it as a peace offering of sorts, a flag of truce, though Bella did not even know we were at war. Was I the one surrendering? I put the stem through the grill of her locker door on the way to English.

Later, I saw Mike Newton pluck that rose for himself.

What was I supposed to do? Chase him down and take it back?

My frame of mind was bleak as I surveyed the garish paper cupids and hearts swathing the cafeteria. The pervasive atmosphere of good will was smothering, but there could be no escape today. Too much sunlight peeked through the ever-present cloudbank to risk going outside.

That gift of sunlight made the students even more nauseatingly cheerful. How well dressed they all were today, I heard Alice approve to herself. The customary uniform of t-shirts, sweats, and ever-present Pacific Northwest plaid was nowhere to be seen.

Some of the girls looked especially nice. Angela Weber didn't usually wear that smoky eye-shadow. Jessica Stanley, one I considered mutton-dressed-as-lamb, had styled her hair in tiny, intricate braids. She wore a clingy top that matched her too-bright lipstick. Alice did not approve of the colour, which, she gleefully informed me, made Jessica's skin look sallow.

Foolishly, I allowed myself a quick glance at Bella. She looked lovely. Truly. She didn't need makeup. She looked healthier today, too. Her cheeks had a rosy glow like she had just been outside.

Her friends were teasing her about the number of valentine cards she had received from her admirers. She refused tell them how many she had received, which prompted Jessica to joke that she must have accumulated quite a stack. Her soft laughter in response floated like music.

She didn't need jewelry either, but she was wearing earrings that dangled. The deep red gems caught the light as she chuckled, sending ruby shimmers across her jaw and the milky skin of her neck. There was a matching clip in her hair, pulling it back from her forehead. Her large eyes were luminous when she smiled. Deep. Inviting.

I so very much wanted to touch her face, to stroke her warm, soft skin once more. To feel it, alive, under my fingertips. Her lower lip was full and pillowy. What would it be like to kiss it? Would that even be possible without harming her? She was so soft. So fragile. So painfully beautiful… how could I ever have imagined taking her life?

We weren't at war. None of this was her fault. She couldn't help what she was. She had no idea how she tempted me. She was innocent. Innocent and sweet; funny and clumsy; vulnerable, and so very bright. In another life, I could have been her friend.

And even as I thought this, I felt the monster stir within me, grasping, hoping, waiting… the very reason why she could not know me…

It wasn't fair.

Rosalie's angelic sigh rent me from my anguish, though only momentarily. She was remembering her first sight of that teetering bouquet of Birds of Paradise and the giant teddy bear that had been delivered by courier this morning. Her smile held Emmett bewitched. She ran her hand through his hair, and he reached behind her neck pulling her face to his. She was no longer thinking about teddy bears.

Discomfited, my gaze swung round to my other siblings who sat quietly, only touching with two fingers. Alice was sniffing a single rose. And Jasper – was enjoying himself hugely. He was using his special talent to manipulate the energy of the room, magnifying the feelings he and Alice shared for one another and throwing them outwards. Rosalie and Emmett had no idea.

"Stop that." I nudged him.

He gave me an innocent look. An impish grin spread beneath his halo.

_The spirit moved me_, he admitted, surveying his handiwork. Alice did not look around but one corner of her mouth turned up.

"It's embarrassing," I said, inclining my head at the happy couple on my left.

Don't be so scornful, he smirked, nodding across the cafeteria in the direction where Bella sat, mimicking a glassy-eyed stare.

My temper rose as I realized how transparent I must have been. I contented myself with kicking Emmett's chair. Rose was now in his lap, and they both ignored me. Jasper and Alice began to quake with silent laughter.

"Er, Mr. Cullen, Miss Hale…" Mrs. Cope bore down on them. They took no notice of her, either.

I had begun to develop a strangely hollow sensation in my chest, one that rapidly became an excruciating emptiness. I wondered if it was possible for vampires to experience indigestion. I didn't know; I just knew that I wanted to be alone at that moment.

My relief at finding the biology lab empty was short-lived. There were four red roses laid neatly on Bella's side of the desk. I didn't have to read the notes to know whom they were from. Tyler had sprayed some of that cheap cologne he wore onto his, and two were labeled "anonymous". I wanted to take the one Mike had stolen and crush it to dust.

She scurried in as the bell rang and the odd feeling in my chest became a furious ache. This was not indigestion. There was something very wrong with me.

She did not flush red when she saw the roses, as I had expected her to. She read the tags, frowned, and shrugged dismissively. She almost looked disappointed. Yet I did not miss that fleeting glance she threw in my direction.

_Bella_. It was an Italian adjective describing feminine beauty. Bella Swan was beautiful to me.

The realization of that moment stung me worse than venom ever could.

* * *

**A/N:** I extend my sincere apologies to Douglas Coupland for taking his name in vain. I regret that I may do so again before this story is complete. Edward quotes from a couple of Shakespeare's famous sonnets in this chapter; he also quotes from my favourite: number 147.


	6. Strategy

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**As always, kudos to my lovely beta, Lezlee. She'll be going on a well-deserved tropical vacation soon. Think of me while you sip those margaritas, you lucky thing.**

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**  
I Feel Possessed – Crowded House youtube watch?v = FhhB4ztWFbQ&ob=av2e  
Habañera (from Carmen) – Bizet youtube watch?v = 2XGPVbxLZiw&feature=related

_"One man talks well, the other keeps silent; it's the other one that I prefer. He said nothing, but I like him…"  
"If I love you, you'd best beware..."_

**Carmen (transl.) ~ Georges Bizet **

* * *

**STRATEGY**

I had always known that I was a monster. But that Valentine's Day, I learned the truth about myself. Without doubt, I had tumbled to a new level of depravity. Isabella. _Belladonna_. She had become my deadly narcotic, and I was plagued with guilt over my longing.

How had this happened? Mere weeks ago, the monstrous desire for her blood caused me to flee nearly three thousand miles. The burning pain remained constant, but these new impulses that had emerged in its wake alarmed me with their growing intensity. It was wrong to think of her in that way. Wrong, yet undeniably tantalizing. I couldn't even talk to anyone about it.

My parents continued to worry about me. I heard their whispered conversations in the dark of night.

"He's like a wound up spring, Carlisle. You remember how he was in New York? I couldn't bear to lose him that way, not again."

"We won't lose him," he assured her.

"Do you believe Alice's vision?"

"I don't know. So much of what she sees is predicated by choice." He stroked the back of her hand reassuringly. "I can only trust that he'll make the right one."

My father could assure Esme, but his own doubt lingered. He would ask me if the desire was under control, meaning the thirst, and I could truthfully tell him, yes, that it well and truly was. The very thought of killing that lovely creature filled me with revulsion. Even so, I knew I lied to both of us. I did not trust that my instincts wouldn't respond without provocation one day.

With one desire suppressed, the others only grew stronger. They would come without warning, those impulses. I could simply pass her in the hallway only to find myself fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to press her up against the lockers and crush her mouth under mine.

The all too real flow of the venom that followed would bring with it a vivid reality. The scene played out in its entirety: a kiss of death as her spine shattered at the impact of the metal and concrete beneath.

There was one low point when I feared becoming some sort of male succubus, but that just made no sense. On the other hand, why had females of my own kind never appealed to me, on any level? Tanya and her sisters had all taken their turns at me when we lived with them. How incensed they had been by my polite rebuttals, especially Tanya. Yet, what else could I have done? I had felt nothing then; I could not pretend otherwise.

What I felt now was – _everything_. It began to consume me, this new fire.

Though it was painful to be near her, I became increasingly anxious when I was not. If that red truck didn't pull into the parking lot at its customary time, I worried about what might have caused the delay.

My protective instinct kicked into overdrive following the accident. I began to anticipate danger for her everywhere I looked. My imagination would find the smallest crack in the pavement that might cause her to trip, or the door that someone might accidentally open in front of her as she walked past. Sometimes, I would drive my family home from school and then double back through town past her place, just to make sure she had arrived safely.

I no longer watched her to ensure that she was keeping our secret safe. I watched her because I couldn't help myself. She was just so interesting. I loved her expressions; they never seemed to match her words. I could never predict what she would say or do next.

She had brought beauty into my world. Music followed in her wake; I heard it more and more clearly now. I knew my growing craving for her friendship was futile, but I began to entertain the notion far more than I should.

There was always the treaty. And there was always Alice's vision to remind me exactly why what I wanted was wrong.

_It doesn't have to be that way, and you know it! _Her shout of frustration became a refrain of sweet torment over the weeks that followed.

The days passed, and I continued to torture myself.

Spring was a different season here than it was in Alaska. It erupted there in a sudden frenzied month, diving immediately into the endless days of summer, as if nature feared to waste a single day. Here, the new season was tentative, but it awoke so much earlier. February drew to a close and the first buds emerged from the winterkill. The snowdrops had come; Indian plums would soon follow.

Remember what Tennyson said about spring? How "a young man's fancy lightly turns to love" at that time of the year? Well, Bella was the fancy, or should I say the f_antasy_, of half the boys at school that spring. Her shiny new toy allure did not diminish as she settled in to life in Forks. If she had any idea of the effect she had on them, she did not seem to care.

I do not speak of those harmless idiots who catcalled from the back of the class to get her attention, nor of the overly friendly male teachers who attributed her achievements to their prowess as educators. I refer to the ordinary human boys with whom she could live a long and happy life. The ones she should have been with.

I stopped keeping count of them after a while. There were just so many, circling like buzzards, waiting to take their turn in the dance of fools. But they were inconsistent: their jumbled thoughts flit from one girl to the next, and back. _Wow, she's pretty. What can I do to get her to notice me? How can I make her like me? _The idea that the girl in question could possibly have her own preference never occurred to them.

I described them as buzzards but that's not the right analogy. All teenage boys smelled like goats to me. Stupid, ugly, billy goats.

Mike Newton positioned himself at the front of the herd, always on hand to carry her books for her, escort her to class, or save her a seat in the cafeteria. He was so obvious.

Had I truly wanted what was best for her, I would have been pleased about his attentions. He came from an upstanding family, and he worked hard in their store to save funds for college. He addressed his elders as 'sir', and it went without saying that he always had his dates home before curfew.

His perfect smile, baby blues, and neatly spiked hair had mildly irritated me before Bella's arrival, but the incident on Valentine's Day really stuck in my craw. It had been a stupid and pointless gesture to put the rose in her locker, but why, of all people, did he have to be the one to take it and pass it off as his own?

I was able to take some pleasure from the way his little fan club had been thrown into a riot by his obvious interest in Bella. It was amusing to watch Jessica, Ashley, and the other girls preen themselves to make him notice them.

But the hurtful things they said about Bella behind her back! I didn't understand why they were so vindictive. I couldn't be sure, but she didn't appear to favour him more than any of the other boys.

The longer I watched her, the more I became an unwilling party to his thoughts, and his schemes to get her to go out with him. Like the other boys, the idea that Bella might have her own opinion about whom she chose to date did not occur to him.

There was one biology class that probably signaled the beginning of the end of my resolve.

Mike carried her books proprietarily, chattering non-stop about some weekend trip to the beach that he was planning. As usual, neither paid me any attention.

She looked luscious. That little jean skirt revealed far too much leg. The black stockings she wore underneath made them appear longer still. Long, coltish legs that went all the way up to . . . A long forgotten heat flashed through my loins, making me shift uncomfortably on the wobbly stool. I shuffled it closer to the desk.

Shoes. There was nothing erotic about shoes. She wore sensible, flat running shoes. Black and white Vans. It would be difficult for her to trip over anything wearing those. Why had Lauren made that snide remark about them? I thought they looked nice.

He continued to babble as they sat down. The single track of his internal monologue irritated me even more than his nasal voice.

_A group date? No pressure there . . . _he had decided that playing porter and gopher hadn't gotten him very far. It was time for new strategy. _Hey, she could come on the beach trip. I bet she'd go if I asked Jessica . . . J_essica wouldn't have been too happy to hear that he was prepared to use her like that.

I rode the burn as I always did, waiting for the sweet release that would follow. The pain receded, but the burn flamed into something else. Why did she have to wear that top? Two-tone olive green, it clung to her curves indecently. The top buttons were undone, exposing that little hollow at the base of her throat. What was that place called again? The jugular notch? The scent was strongest there. It deserved a better name.

"Hey, BELLA!" The customary refrain erupted from the back of the room. "Bella, oh BEL-LA!"

_Look at me, Bella. Watch me . . . _they were truly children, all of them.

"Shut up, Coupland," Mike bristled, protectively.

"Ooh, Bella's got a bodyguard," Doug heckled, though he didn't care to bait them any further.

Ignoring him, Mike jumped on to the desk. "A bunch of us'll be going. The waves are really big this time of year. It's always a lot of fun; you should come."

"Where is it, again?" she asked.

Midterms loomed a week away, and Mr. Banner meant business when he clapped loudly for attention.

"All right, people. We've got a lot of ground to cover today. Partners, everyone." Disregarding the chorus of groans, he did a quick head count. "Mike, since Tyler's away, you can sit with Edward and Bella for now." _Maybe you'll actually learn something . . ._

He didn't bother containing his delight, and I didn't fail to notice how close to her he sat. How she could stand the proximity of his offensive bovid smell?

When we - I'll rephrase that- when Bella and I completed the group work, he lingered at our lab table.

"Looks like we'll have good weather this weekend. You should come. You can borrow a boogie board from the shop and just paddle if you want to. You _can_ swim, right?"

His parents owned the local outdoor outfitters shop. The nearest other of its kind being inconveniently located in Port Angeles meant that they had the monopoly in Forks. We actually bought a lot of our camping equipment there. Though he did not care for us, he never refused our money.

She looked worried when he mentioned boogie boarding. The idea of her paddling in that rough, grey water terrified me, but what bothered me more was the thought that she would be with _him_.

_It's none of your business, _I reminded myself.

"You'll need a wetsuit, then," he told her. "That water's cold!"

He didn't care that she might become hypothermic in cold water. He thought only of a roaring bonfire, his arm snugly around her.

"Tell me after-" she began, but he wanted to impress her with his knowledge of the great outdoors.

"There's hiking and whale watching, too. It's migrating season for the humpbacks." He had come across that fact online that morning. "I see killer whales, otters, and seals down there all the time." He had never seen a killer whale in the wild. "Sometimes-"

"Mr. Newton, Miss Swan, is there something you'd like to share with the rest of us?"

Bella gasped and Mike looked down at his lap. They both turned scarlet.

"No sir," he mumbled.

"I thought not. Well then, since you clearly know this material, why don't you remind us of some of the important reasons for karyotyping we discussed at the end of last class?"

Three rows of heads swiveled to watch them squirm.

" . . . I can't, sir," Mike whispered.

"Miss Swan?"

Banner had argued with his wife that morning and was still steaming about it. He had taken out his bad temper on the students all day. Bella may have been his favourite, but she was a soft target. She stared at her still-closed textbook, biting her lower lip.

"Um . . . " Her heart raced as she struggled for an answer.

"We're waiting, Miss Swan."

Silence. Moisture brightened her eyes.

I don't know why I did it. My text, my prop, was open on the page containing the answers. Eyes front, I tapped the eraser end of my pencil on a spot in the middle of the third paragraph. The hint was meant for her eyes; instead Mike's darted over to where it remained poised.

_Always in the way . . ._

"To determine if a chromosome defect is present in a fetus," he recited, flushing even deeper red with relief.

_Lucky guess. _Mr. Banner narrowed his eyes at Mike."That's right." The grudging acknowledgement came after a second's hesitation. "Now, folks, when we talk about karyotyping…"

"Thanks," Mike whispered to me, still looking down.

_I didn't do it for you. _

I knew that she was glaring at me. After a second or two, she shook her head and gave a frustrated little huff. Chin cupped in hand, that curtain of hair came down for the rest of the lecture.

I wouldn't return her look; I knew what would happen if I did. I would become lost in those penetrating dark eyes, never to turn away. Ever. Alice would be proved right.

The bell rang, signaling freedom.

"Walk you to Gym?" Mike offered. Her answering groan caused me to glance around despite myself.

"Gym . . ." she muttered glumly, her shoulders sagging. "No. I'll see you later."

Suddenly she looked like a condemned prisoner about to march to the firing squad. I found the melodrama comic. Could she really be that uncoordinated? The rumours still persisted…

I hated gym, too. I hated running at human pace. I hated the necessity of restraining my speed and strength—of appearing _normal_. Not for the first time did it occur to me that so much of my life was about restraint.

I made no move to leave, but she hadn't missed the smile I was fighting. She shoved her books into her bag with unnecessary vigour, flouncing away with her nose stuck haughtily in the air.

* * *

"Who do you think you'll ask to the dance?" Jessica wanted to know.

The spring dance was the next event on the high school social calendar, and it was two weeks away. The children viewed it as the lead up to their prom, and to encourage attendance it was designated as ladies' choice this year. I didn't care about the activity. The only reason I was listening to her conversation was that Bella was in her thoughts.

"Oh, I don't know," Angela, replied vaguely, reluctant to gossip.

It was Ben Cheney's face that flashed through her mind, however. Had she asked him, he would have agreed in a heartbeat. He had a huge crush on her. She was reluctant to discuss this with Jessica, though why she cared so much about what that little empty-head thought was beyond me. What did it matter that she was almost a head taller than him?

"You should just take control, and ask someone. You're a strong, independent woman."

Angela shrugged.

"You are," she assured her, gesturing around the cafeteria. "There must be somebody you want to go with. What about Eric? Or Tyler?"

"Not Tyler. Lauren would scratch my eyes out."

"Ha, ha! You're so funny!"

"I'm serious. And anyway, I don't like him. Not that way."

"You don't like Lauren, either," Jessica surmised.

"It's not that. She can just be really catty sometimes. Like, I don't know what she has against Bella."

I knew exactly what she had against Bella. Typical of all insecure people, Lauren enjoyed putting others down to build herself up.

"Oh, that." Jessica referred to a comment Lauren had made about Bella's performance in gym. "She does run like a gimp. And she never got the ball in the net once."

"She's your friend. Why didn't you stick up for her?"

I wished Bella could know that Jessica kept company with her more for the attention she drew from boys than from any deep affection. Since little of that attention had trickled down to her, the novelty was quickly wearing off.

"Anyway, I think I'll ask Mike," she announced, returning to what she really wanted to talk about: herself. "It's time we moved things on to the next level."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

_Duh_, she thought, giving a little cough. "It's pretty obvious that he likes me."

"He's been hanging out with Bella a lot lately. She might want to ask him." Angela pointed out.

"I've known him since sixth grade. I've got dibs -I'm serious!" she protested when Angela rolled her eyes.

"Fine. I'll find out if she's planning to ask him first. Happy?" It would be a courtesy call, nothing more. There was no question in her mind that Bella would acquiesce. Her choice did not matter. "Hey, we should all go shopping in Port Angeles before all the good dresses get cleaned out."

"I'm definitely up for a girl's night," Angela agreed, feeling happier about things.

"Oh, hey, Bella," Jessica chirped. "I like your shoes . . ."

* * *

"Hand me a spanner, will you?" Rosalie's perfectly manicured hand flipped out from underneath the jeep.

I complied, not looking up from beneath the hood of the Volvo. This was our thing, tuning the cars. It was the one interest the two of us shared. Rosalie was mechanically minded, and a perfectionist. We both liked to tinker, but she was a far better mechanic than I could ever hope to be. She had definitely missed her calling.

"Okay, let her down, Emmett."

He had the jeep propped up with one hand, and was poring over a map of the Cascades in the other. You knew spring was near when Emmett hauled out the road maps.

"All right. Now, turn it on."

The jeep came to life with a resonant growl. "Nice," he praised.

She cocked her head to the side, listening carefully. "I still think the timing's a little off," she demurred.

He shrugged, cut the engine, and hoisted it up again. We continued working in silence for a while.

"You're in a good mood," she commented, meaning me.

"Hm?"

"You were humming."

"Was I?" I hadn't been aware of it.

"He's always doing that lately," she said to Emmett. "What is that tune? It's not Mozart."

The melody had been in my head for days. "Just something I heard somewhere."

Luckily, her attention was too occupied to press the matter. "Okay, try it now," she directed.

"Yeah, that's better, Rose." Emmett nodded.

"Very smooth," I agreed.

"It'll do, I guess," she decided.

He smiled as she wiped a smudge of grease off her cheek. He liked how she looked in her overalls.

"Shall we give her a test drive?" he offered, pulling her closer by the shoulder straps.

"Let's," she purred.

"I'll drive."

I didn't appreciate being party to their thoughts at that moment.

"I take it Alice hasn't press-ganged the two of you tonight?" I grumbled, wiping the grease off my hands.

"Alice and her _human experiences_," Rosalie scoffed. "Like we'd go to that stupid dance."

"Weren't you going to ask me?" Emmett feigned disappointment.

"It's our anniversary that night."

He scratched his head. "Which wedding?"

"As if you didn't know." But she winked at him.

* * *

"That's pretty," Esme commented over my shoulder. "It's nice to hear you composing again."

"Just tinkering," I shrugged, self-consciously.

_I've missed that smile_, she thought, sitting on the bench next to me. "It's beautiful," she demurred. "Makes a nice change from Beethoven."

I had to laugh. I _had_ been playing a lot of Beethoven lately. Heavy Beethoven. Dark, brooding Beethoven. I had been driving everyone crazy.

"It's a work in progress."

For some reason, I felt embarrassed about playing this piece while my mother was there. It was the music that I heard when I was around Bella. It was too private to share. Instead, I segued into the melody that I wrote for her many years before.

"How about this, instead?" I asked her.

She closed her eyes and listened for a few bars, smiling.

"Still so lovely," she marveled, opening her eyes again. "But, I can hear that any time. Play some more of the new one."

"It's not ready," I protested. "It still needs a lot of work."

"Play what you've written."

"I'd rather not."

"Why not?" She placed her hand on my shoulder, smiling gently. I wanted to slump under its soft stone weight.

_I do _not_ want to do this . . . _Jasper's petulant thought saved from answering_._"Is this really necessary?" he grumbled as Alice dragged him into the great room.

Her mouth set in a determined line. "Humour me."

"How many more high school experiences do you really need?"

"Think of it as a warm-up for prom."

"You've never wanted to go to prom before." He radiated absolute horror.

"Are you two ready?" She asked Esme and me, ignoring him.

"Yes. Do you want me to play for you?" I offered.

"Oh, no. You're not getting off that easy," she laughed, dropping a pile of CDs beside the stereo. "You and Esme are my moral support tonight."

"Aren't we lucky?" I muttered. Esme elbowed me, but didn't hide her grin.

"The tango?" I asked, glancing at what Alice had brought with her. "We're in for a long night . . ."

She waved airily. "That's for later on. Put on something simple first."

Ah, Alice and her 'projects'. She had decided that the upcoming dance would be a good opportunity to unveil the loot from her latest shopping trip in Seattle. More than that, she was appalled that all the courtly Southern charm and deportment Jasper possessed had not prevented him from being the only vampire in existence with two left feet.

Frankly, I didn't approve of what she was planning. The noise, the crowds, and the heated, pumping blood in the bodies of those excited students would surely be too much for him. I wished he would put his foot down, but he could never refuse her.

We started with the waltz - a simple box step - that he managed to shuffle through, more or less successfully, but he just couldn't get the foxtrot. The more Esme and I spun circles around him, the more frustrated he became.

"Are you going to the dance, too?" Esme asked me. She gave Jasper an encouraging smile as we sailed past, slow, quick-quick, slow. He was envious, exasperated.

"No."

"Why not? You're a wonderful dancer."

"It's ladies' choice," I said, dipping her. "And no one has asked me." I knew that no one would.

"Oh. Well, maybe you can get somebody to ask you?" she suggested, hopefully.

"That pretty much takes away the aspect of choice, doesn't it?" I teased.

"I suppose so. Pity. I think it would be fun."

"I'll dance with you, Edward." Alice promised.

"Thanks, but I'm not going."

It was the strangest thing. Just for a moment, I wasn't dancing with Esme. I was dancing with Bella, and she was wearing a dress in that same shade of deep blue that looked so stunning against her skin. She moved so gracefully. That's when I knew my imagination had got away on me. I had many compliments for Bella, but graceful was not among them.

Alice's voice cut into my reverie, wheedling, placating.

"All right, just one more time, love. I think you've almost got it. Cue that track for me again please, Edward? Thanks. And, ONE-two-three-four . . ."

"It's still very difficult for you at the school, isn't it?" Esme whispered once some space had grown between us and the others.

Though she missed the mark, there was no point denying her statement.

"I'm trying. In some ways it's getting easier."

"Is it?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Mother," I told her, reading her recurring worry. The very thought of leaving Bella's proximity stabbed me viscerally.

"I know," she reassured herself, patting my shoulder.

She watched Alice and Jasper as they shuffled in an awkward circle, but she wasn't really seeing them. _He has always been so alone. It would be nice if he had a friend._

Esme did not always make the effort to be as careful with her thoughts around me as Carlisle did. Truthfully, she did not care to.

How often had I heard this from her over the years? She worried about me. She wondered if there was something fundamental missing from my nature because Carlisle had changed me too early in life. She never said it, but she feared there might be something wrong with me.

Now I shared her concern, though for a different reason. These feelings I had developed for a creature who was supposed to be my prey: surely they were unnatural? Or were they? This wasn't only about thirst, or desire—not at all. I felt compassion for her, most definitely. 'Live and let live' was our family's credo, after all. And yes, I was lonely. I had lived with it for so long that it had become a part of me.

I wasn't able to tell Esme about those conflicted feelings. That was why I couldn't play the music for her, either; it was just too full of them.

Despite that, her unspoken wish planted a seed of hope within me. Could it be possible? Could there be some way to thwart fate? Alice's visions were subjective. I knew this. What she saw depended so much on individual choice.

I'd made the choice not to kill Bella. If I had my choice now, she would become my friend. Friendship necessitated honesty, which meant she would have to know everything about me. Ergo, she would have to know how I saved her. She would have to find out what I was.

And what would her choice be then? The sensible one would be to run away, screaming, never to speak to me again.

* * *

The next afternoon there was tension in Bella's clique. Jessica had gone ahead and asked Mike to the dance, but he had put her off. She had her suspicions that he had already said yes to Bella, but couldn't prove it. She gave both of them the cold shoulder at lunch, flirting blatantly with Eric. Frankly, I was surprised that she didn't jump into his lap.

_Who does she think she is, anyway? She knew I was planning to ask him. _

Mike was worried._ Jessica's okay, but I'd rather go with Bella. I hope she hasn't already asked someone . . . _Her decisions, her choice, had no bearing on his plans.

And Bella looked distinctly uncomfortable—like she had guessed she was the cause of the frostiness between her friends.

I sighed internally when he walked her into the lab after lunch. It was going to be another very long lecture. She'd been out in the rain and the damp had made her hair curly.

For once, he did not jump on to the side of our lab table. He was nervous.

_Just ask her,_ he told himself.

"You look nice today, Bella," he observed, instead. She did; how was I supposed to ignore her when she kept wearing that dark blue blouse?

How many times had I told myself that it didn't matter if she was friendly with him? He meant nothing. He was nothing. Even so, it was very hard to fight the urge to push him off the table. It would have been just a little push. Enough to land him on the floor and knock the wind out of him. That was all.

"Thanks." She smiled apprehensively.

"So," he continued, afraid to look her in the eyes. "Jessica asked me to the spring dance."

"That's great," she replied – did I detect just a little too much enthusiasm in her voice? "You'll have a lot of fun with Jessica."

"Well…" he was confused by her response. "I told her I had to think about it."

"Why would you do that?" she seemed genuinely shocked.

_Because I don't like Jessica the way I like you_.

I knew what was coming next, but I was unprepared for the wave of pure hatred that roiled through me as he flushed and looked down to gather courage.

"I was wondering if . . . well, you might be planning to ask me."

Yes, I hated him. I hated the way he kicked the side of the table while he chatted with her. I hated the way his round face bobbed around on his neck like a balloon on a string. I imagined how easy it would be to snap that string. I wondered what his head would look like when all the hot air was let out of it.

Of course she would go with him. Why wouldn't she? Half the junior girls would give anything to be in her place right now.

Instead, she shook her head. "Mike, I think you should tell her yes," she admonished.

"Did you already ask someone?" His glance shifted my way for a fraction of a second.I continued to examine the intensely fascinating vista of the staff parking lot.

"No," she assured him. "I'm not going to the dance at all."

Why wouldn't she be going? She could take her pick from any of those boys.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," she explained. Was she lying to let him down easy?

"Can't you go some other weekend?" _She totally already asked someone._

"Sorry, no. So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer–it's rude."

"Yeah, you're right," he mumbled, slouching dejectedly back to his seat. _Damnit! What if Jessica won't go with me now?_

She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples like she had a headache. I couldn't believe it. Had she refused him for Jessica's sake, or was there someone else she wanted to go with? Was that why she looked so guilty?

_It's none of your business. Let it go._

I heard Banner's lecture in the background, but could pay it no heed. What on earth was she thinking? Suddenly she was looking directly back at me, her expression a mirror of everything I was feeling: surprise, frustration, and aggravation. I didn't want to look away.

" . . . another name for the citric acid cycle? _Mr. Cullen?_" Banner pounced.

"The Krebs cycle," I replied, irritated by the diversion.

"Correct," he acknowledged, disappointed that he hadn't caught me out. "A series of enzyme-catalyzed chemical reactions which…"

When I looked back, she was shifting her hair over her shoulder again. Her hand shook and her heart pounded, but I wasn't thinking about the coursing blood that caused it to beat so. All I wanted to know was why she had turned him down.

Three thousand one hundred and ninety seven seconds later, the bell rang, and she turned her back to gather her things. I heard my voice.

"Bella?"

She turned slowly, reluctantly. Her eyes were wary; nonetheless her glare made me feel weak and ridiculous once again.

Now what?_ Bella, I'm not ignoring you? _

I was no longer the omnipotent immortal. I was the seventeen year old boy whose bodyI still inhabited, and I had no idea what to say next.

"What? Are you speaking to me again?" she finally asked, peevishly.

"No, not really," I admitted, trying to swallow the wretchedly inappropriate laughter that threatened to bubble up once more.

She closed her eyes again, inhaled through her nose, and clenched her jaw. I heard her teeth grating.

"Then what do you want, Edward?"

It was easier to sort out my thoughts when she wasn't looking at me. "I'm sorry. I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."

That had not come out the way I had intended. I could tell by the way her now open eyes widened in surprise.

"I don't know what you mean," she said, though it looked like she was rapidly forming a conclusion, one that she did not like.

"It's better if we're not friends," I explained, earnestly. "Trust me."

By that I meant that it was better, safer, for her if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be, but she had definitely heard that line before. She cut me off.

"It's too bad you didn't figure that out earlier." Her voice hissed through her teeth. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."

"Regret?" I had no idea what she meant. "Regret for what?"

"For not just letting that stupid van squish me."

I was dumbfounded. "You think I regret saving your life?" I finally managed. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

"I _know_ you do."

Her voice was bitter; contemptuous. It cut right through me. How could she be so utterly, impossibly wrong? Now I'd compounded her misapprehension with insult. It was infuriating how every conversation we had put us at cross-purposes.

But how dare she make that assumption? She had no idea what I had been through to keep her alive—how I felt about her.

"You don't know _anything_," I spluttered. And I could never tell her, either. It was excruciating.

She turned sharply, gathered her books, and stalked to the door. It would have been a plausibly dramatic exit had she not caught her toe on the doorjamb, dropping them all in a heap. She stood there for a moment, looking helpless. I couldn't stand it.

"Thank you," she replied, icily, as I collected the books and handed them to her.

"You're welcome." Two could play at that game.

She stalked off without another word or backwards glance. I should have gone after her; instead, I stood there like an idiot.

_Well done, Edward. You handled that admirably_.

I restrained myself from slamming my locker door and knocking the whole flimsy row of metal off the wall. Barely.

"So, did she ask you?" I heard Eric ask Mike as I stalked to History.

"No. She blew me off. Said something about going to Seattle that weekend."

"Bummer." His commiseration was insincere. He was already forming his own plans to get her to ask him to the dance.

Mike just sighed. "I hope I can still get Jessica to go with me."

"Good luck, man."

"Thanks. I'm gonna need it."

I wasn't the only one listening. Tyler Crowley pretended to fish around in his locker for a book, and his ears perked up at Mike's admission of defeat. He was going to ask her, too. These boys were idiots. They had no idea of protocol. They did not understand it was her choice to make.

I endured another tedious, error-filled lecture on Jackson's presidency. I would have skipped class had there not been a quiz during the last half-hour. As I dropped my paper on her desk, I fervently hoped that Mrs. Goff wouldn't lose her answer key again. I hated arguing over marks with her; she was not very gracious when she knew she was wrong.

Prowling the school grounds, pacing like a caged thing, I began to obsess about why Bella hadn't given Mike an outright 'no'. Was she really going to Seattle, or had she told a white lie for fear of offending him?

She shouldn't be going to Seattle alone. The truck could break down. She could get car-jacked on the highway. A girl on her own was an easy enough target, but Bella may as well have had a bulls-eye painted on her forehead.

If she did manage to get there unscathed, what dangers might still befall her? She could get mugged. She could be hit crossing the street. Or worse? The nomads that Alice had been keeping tabs on had gone off the radar, but what if they turned up in Seattle? She would stand no chance if they came across her. Her blood was too tempting. No, she really shouldn't be going alone.

It felt as if the she would never exit the building, but in reality I didn't have to wait long. Nor did Eric, who was already beside her truck, rehearsing his proposal.

_Bella, would you go to the dance with me? No, be more casual. Hey, Bella, what're you doing next Saturday . . . ? Crap, she's here._

She practically skidded to a stop when she saw him slouched against her truck. Her blush was enchanting.

"Hey, Eric." Her voice shook a little.

"Hi Bella."

"What's up?" she asked, eyeing him apprehensively as she unlocked the door.

"Uh, I was just wondering . . ." he hesitated. _Do it, do it, do it!_ "If you would go to the spring dance with me?" His voice rose to a croak at the end of the question. _God, you sound like a tool! _

She looked taken aback. "I thought it was girls' choice."

"Well, yeah," he admitted, sheepishly.

She rearranged her face into an answering smile so fake it looked as if it would split in two.

"Thank you for asking me," she told him in a syrupy voice, "But I'm going to be in Seattle that day."

"Oh." _I guess she really is going out of town_. "Well, maybe next time," he speculated hopefully, turning on his heel.

"Sure," she agreed, looking equally hopeful there would be no next time.

Two down. I couldn't deny the relief I felt, though she probably thought, as I walked past, that I was laughing at her expense. I couldn't help it; her bemusement at all the sudden attention was just so comical.

She made a show of slamming her door and revving the engine. But by the time she reversed into the aisle I had already slid my car out and cut her off.

It was only fair to give Tyler his chance now. He was in his parents' new Sentra, at the front of the line forming behind her. She revved her engine again and nudged the truck forward.

For once I was glad my siblings were taking their sweet time to leave. They lingered near the cafeteria, summing up the day to one another. Rosalie checked her makeup in her compact mirror. Someone lit a cigarette near Alice and she fanned her hand in disgust. Jasper and Emmett discussed wrestling techniques, and Emmett offered to demonstrate one of the new holds he'd learned on the next student who walked past them. I would have enjoyed seeing that, but the little comedy going on behind me was much more entertaining.

_Don't you move, Cullen_, Tyler begged.

_Wouldn't dream of it_. I watched in the mirror.

He beeped his horn and waved. She scowled, rubbing viciously at an imaginary streak on the windshield. She didn't notice that he had left his car until he knocked on the passenger window. Startled by his sudden appearance, she checked her rearview mirror. When she looked back, he motioned for her to roll the window down. It got stuck half way. I could almost see the steam rising out of her ears.

"I'm sorry, Tyler. I'm stuck behind Cullen," she snapped.

"Oh, I know," he grinned. "I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." Her eyes widened incredulously as he continued, "Will you ask me to the spring dance?"

"I'm not going to be in town, Tyler," she repeated, the volume of her voice rising sharply at the end.

"Yeah, Mike said that," he admitted.

"Then why-"

He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."

Exasperation replaced incredulity now. "Sorry Tyler. I really am going to be out of town."

_Hey, she didn't exactly say 'no', _he considered. "That's cool. We still have prom." _Dad says you have to be persistent when it comes to women . . . that's how he got Mom to go out with him . . .  
_

"Prom?" she mouthed as he walked back to his car.

That made it a hat trick. She had confounded them all – she had confounded all of us. She had had her pick, yet she had chosen no one. Who was she waiting for? Who would she chose?

"What's so funny?" Jasper wanted to know. I was still laughing as they took their seats.

The truck's engine revved again; the front fender was less than two feet from my back bumper, and inching closer.

"Nothing." Her irate expression set me off once more.

I decided not to push my luck any further. Fearing for my vehicle's paint job, I drove my siblings home. I felt both happier and more anxious than I had in weeks.

My laughter was transitory, serving to release pent up anxiety and little else. Esme had described me as a wound up spring; and that was exactly how I felt. I was tightly coiled and beginning to unravel.

Something had to give.


	7. Checkmate

**Stephenie Meyer owns these chapters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Many thanks to** **bonnysammy, excellent interim beta for this chapter. **

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

Creep - Radiohead  
Losing My Religion – R.E.M.

* * *

**CHECKMATE**

_As I leaped onto the wall outside Bella's window, I knew that everything had led to this moment. This was an ending. An ending―possibly a beginning . . . at least I would know..._

The wind howled, driving rain over Hurricane Ridge into the strait. The hunt had taken me further into the mountains than I'd intended; I'd been running for hours, flying between the trees, draining every animal that crossed my path. I felt I could depopulate the entire forest yet never assuage this thirst. For I'd been ravaged since she'd come here. Parched. Pillaged. That a child―_a mere child_―could reduce me to this. How I hated myself.

The pain worsened, twisting sadness and frustration deeper into my gut, a searing reminder of a reality I'd never escape. Damn the blood! It called to me so. And yet I wanted her. Why did it have to be this way? Doubled over and gasping, with my hands braced on my knees, I wanted to scream . . . _It wasn't fair_ . . . I just kept running.

* * *

Bull elk live separately from the harems during calving season. The mild winter had provided good foraging, and the animal I stalked was strong; it had already regained much of the weight lost during the rut. One so large normally satiated me for weeks, but I was greedy.

It dug at the moss and lichen with its new antlers, ears swiveling like radar dishes, anticipating a predator's approach. Ruminating, raising its head periodically, its round wide eyes searched the darkness, seeing nothing. It wouldn't see me coming.

I was greedy, and it was stupid to stalk it on foot. I should have attacked from above. I was close, ready to spring, but careless, focused only on the nectar in the carotid artery. Its head shot up at the crack of a branch; the whites of its eyes, then its rump flashed in the weak moonlight.

"Goddamn it!"

I watched it run, feeling an uncoiling, an unraveling within me. There was a whipping sound―I didn't know if it was the wind or my imagination. I just knew that it was futile to give chase. Blood would alleviate the burn, but it would never take away the ache, the heartsickness, the longing.

For I had fallen in love with my natural prey. Alone, in the dark, there could be no more denial. I had loved her for weeks. I loved her . . . despite the basest instincts of my nature. Though it appalled the cynic in me, I felt there must be some truth to the notion of love at first sight. How else had I found the strength to leave her alive that first day?

Something had changed in me that moment we met. I had been irrevocably altered, and fighting it ever since. I'd believed that pride and curiosity had drawn me back from Alaska, but it was her allure that tipped the balance. Her eyes, her voice had never left me, nor had they since.

How could she possibly think I regretted saving her life?

_I know you do._

She had no idea what she did to me.

It felt right to admit that I loved her now. I loved her more than I wanted to kill her. It felt right to give reign to the euphoria and the fear that followed on the heels of that admission.

For if this was love, it felt _nothing_ like what I'd ever anticipated. It was a desperate sort of feeling—giddy, sickening. Even as I recognized what it was I felt, I knew I had no right to. I knew I must lose her, either to fate or to another, though she was not even mine to lose.

_Mine_. Such a greedy word. I was a greedy, grasping creature—a monster in every respect. How could she ever love me? She was pure and innocent and good. So far above me in everyway.

I coveted, and I was jealous. Oh yes, I understood jealousy now. Reading about that emotion, or watching actors portray it on stage could not compare with that viscerally cold rage I swallowed in the instant before she turned Mike down.

I understood how one man could slaughter another because of jealousy. Had I not imagined Mike's demise that very afternoon? Had I not fantasized about doing away with all of her potential suitors as they declared themselves to her, picking them off, one by one?

I had set myself above humans because I could hear their petty thoughts, but truly, I was no better. The things I'd imagined doing to her―doing _with_ her! I wanted to eat her, to drink her, to do the same things Emmett did to Rosalie that made her squeal. I didn't know if such acts would be possible without causing her harm, but I wanted to find out, very much so.

No, I was no better than the humans. In fact, I was much worse. None of them fought the bloodlust I did. But did they appreciate her humour, or her intelligence? Could they discuss with her the books she had read? I doubted it. She was so much more than an attractive package.

More than any of these desires, I wanted just to be with her—to be accepted as I was. I wanted her to look at me the way Esme looked at Carlisle―that look that says 'everything'. I wanted that comfort, even if only for a short time in my existence.

I had no right to want any of those things. I had nothing to give in return; I was a parasite. My very existence depended on pain and death.

And I heard the refrain of a familiar lament: Why her? Why here, now, in this place, when I'd finally created a semblance of peace for myself? Why did she have to be human?

For the first time, I heard a response. My own voice, in a different context:

_Why does it matter?_

It mattered because of the treaty, and because of the blood red eyes in Alice's vision. Yet, Alice hadn't seen _me_ turn Bella. I'd been the one to draw that conclusion. I'd latched on to that one vision because I was prepared to believe the worst of myself. Most of her predictions indicated only that Bella would become part of our family. Was that possible if she remained human?

The treaty stipulated that as long as we stayed off Quileute lands and did not bite any humans, they would keep our secret safe. I still sometimes thought about biting her―not always for sustenance―but I had made the decision weeks ago not to kill her. I knew that I was strong enough; she would not die because of me. And I'd do everything in my power to ensure that she wouldn't die because Fate had shown that card to my sister.

I processed all of this in a matter of seconds. Though still reeling from the onslaught of feeling, I was immediately cognizant of two questions that required answering. The first: I loved her, so what the hell was I going to do about it? The second: how did she feel about me?

Very quickly, I had two answers for the first question. One was the right thing to do. The other was what I wanted. I thought about these alternatives as I walked in the night. I had all the time in the world to think about them. Right now, it was more imperative to answer the second question.

I turned around and began to jog back towards Forks.

* * *

My mind whirred, the restless thoughts propelling me back to town like a bullet. No one was faster than me. I had never lost the newborn speed.

Beautiful, maddening, inscrutable girl. Why had she turned all the others down? Was there someone else? What other reason could there be? If only there was some way to read her thoughts!

How did she do it? I had never encountered anyone, human or immortal, with the power to discern my gift and block it. I would catch the intent in the instant before it occurred.

It must be an unconscious trait―some sort of reflex. More than likely, she would be able to block any telepath. I wondered if this reflex operated at all times or only during certain states of consciousness. Would it operate while she slept, for example?

I had studied psychology; I was familiar with Freud's theory that dreams reflected the true desires of the subconscious. It seemed logical that subconscious human thought should be discernable during sleep. What if I could hear Bella's thoughts while she slept?

If I could get some sense of what she felt about me, it would give me some peace. If she hated and feared me, at least I would know. I doubted that it would ever change the way I felt, but I could leave her alone and let her live her life. I knew that much. And, if she did return my feelings, what then?

If there was a way to hear her thoughts, I needed to find out. That was the reason I went to her house that night.

The clapboard two-storey with the small front porch and offset garage was, like so many of the homes in Forks, painted white with a grey peaked roof. A lip of the forest encircled the back yard like two arms. I had an unobstructed view of the rear of the house from my hiding place in a stand of hemlocks.

There was the kitchen with the yellow cupboards, just as I had envisioned it on that first awful day she came to school. The memory of what I came close to doing to her then still sickened me.

Circling towards the front of the house brought into view the slightly shabby living room, with a sofa that had seen better days, a crocheted afghan thrown over the easy chair, and a photo of an elderly woman on the side table beside it.

I'd miscalculated the typical human evening routine. Chief Swan was still awake, watching television. He was not really seeing the inane sitcom on the screen, though; his mind was elsewhere.

He reminded himself to replace the spare key under the eaves when he left for work in the morning. He saw his own house key nestled in a ring, still in his desk drawer at work, right where he had left it.

And he worried about Bella. _Why does she have to go to Seattle _that_ weekend? I know she hates all the social stuff, but she's getting to that age . . . Besides, those are good kids. They wouldn't laugh . . . _He pictured her in a long dress, tripping over the hem, which I thought was unfair. Surely no one could be that uncoordinated? Then I caught a memory of a much younger Bella, wearing a tutu . . . a disastrous ballet recital . . . little ballerinas falling like dominoes.

But my suspicion that the trip to Seattle was an impromptu excuse appeared to be on the mark.

_She's bored already; I knew she'd hate it here . . . _Another memory, this time of Bella crying into her pillow late at night during her first week in Forks.

_She should let me drive her . . . that truck'll never make it . . . _That damn truck. Surely he'd had it inspected before he bought it for her? How could it still be roadworthy?

Then . . . _Wonder if she's got a boyfriend there she doesn't want me to know about? She could have met someone in a chat room . . . Hm, maybe I_ should _go with her._ Once again, I felt the cold stab of jealousy at the thought of her with someone else. Worse, I couldn't shake the sense of foreboding I felt about her going to Seattle on her own.

I knew I shouldn't intrude on his thoughts any longer. Moreover, I was allowing myself to be distracted from my purpose, so I crossed the lawn and scaled one of the huge trees that grew alongside the house.

As I leaped onto the wall outside of Bella's window, I knew that everything had led to this moment. It felt like an ending. An ending―possibly a beginning . . . at least I would know.

I had no idea what to expect. Since my new birth, I had never encountered a sleeping human. My victims, those monsters I stalked in the night, had met their ends very much awake. They had seen their fates coming to them; the endorphins pumping through the blood made the kill that much richer. It was the same when I hunted animals.

I was not hunting now, and I couldn't let my thoughts travel along that path. I was gathering evidence to prove my theory.

_This is not a science experiment. You are stalking the police chief's daughter. Go home while you still can._

It's a myth that vampires can't cross the threshold of a human's home unless invited in. I'm not sure how that one originated. The double hung window was not locked―few people worried about crime in Forks, though I had expected the chief of police to be more security-conscious than most. It hadn't been opened in many years; the layer of grime caused the mechanism to stick a little. I feared that the noise might wake her.

_Home invasion: that's a low you haven't stooped to in a while . . ._

I was already damned. I was a liar, and a thief. I had forged, and assumed false identities. I was a murderer, many times over. What was one more crime to add to a long list?

My eyes did not need to adjust to the darkness. The colours had been drawn out of the room, but I could see as clearly as if it were the middle of the day. She was curled on her side, pale in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains. Her eyelids fluttered at the faint noise from the closing window, but I could tell by her breathing that she was very deeply asleep.

I had not been prepared for how lovely she would look—hadn't even thought about it. With her loose hair fanned out on the pillow in a halo, and the expression of absolute peace she wore, I felt I was in the presence of a sleeping angel from a Old Masters painting. _And where was the devil?_ I couldn't help but wonder. Hiding in the corner of the room?

Her pulse came slow and steady, a half-step behind her heartbeat. And her scent—my Lord! It came off her skin, her hair, almost as overpowering as it had been in that space between the cars after the accident. Like then, it made me dizzy. But it did not burn.

I no longer had any human memories of falling asleep. What must it be like to enter a state of such helplessness, forgetfulness? It was fascinating to watch. Her expressions changed continually and her eyes moved under their lids. Was she dreaming? What did she see?

Once again, she'd completely distracted me. I forced myself back to the task, listening for her thoughts, for something, anything . . . but there was only silence. Perhaps they were just muffled, as her father's were? I cleared my mind, mustering all my concentration, but still I heard nothing.

I tried again and again, but her thoughts remained as securely hidden as they did when she was awake. Frustrated, stymied, I'd convinced myself to give up and leave when she took in a breath and quietly announced,

"Dinner's ready."

I was so surprised that I actually found myself looking around for an audience. Of course, I had read that some people talked in their sleep. How absolutely fascinating.

The wind picked up and light rain showered against the window. She shifted and sighed. The cover slipped from her white shoulder.

"No, s'okay, Mom," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around the pillow. The little crease appeared between her brows again. She looked so sad.

I remembered the way she'd spoken about her mother before. She chose her mother's happiness over her own to come here. She knew it was the right thing to do.

Downstairs, the television switched off, followed by the living room lamp. I pressed further into the corner as Chief Swan's footsteps ascended the stairwell and padded across the hall.

_You won't find what you're looking for here, _my conscience nagged_. Go home. Let her live her life._

In the moment I realized I loved her, I had processed two possibilities. There was what was right, and there was what I wanted. I thought about them now.

The first and best alternative would be if I did nothing. I could disappear for a few years―maybe until she left for college. She would forget about me, though time and distance would never change my feelings for her.

The second was to take the risk and reveal to her how I felt. If she felt anything for me in return, I would find a way to stay with her throughout her human life. What would happen when she died? Would sixty or seventy years of happiness be enough to last me through eternity? It would have to be.

Though it was the alternative I could most easily face, there were countless arguments against it. It was inconceivably selfish: what could I give her in return, eternally seventeen, never growing older, never changing? What kind of life could she have with me? There would never be children. She would want someone who would give her children, wouldn't she? Inevitably, she would grow beyond me.

She deserved so much more.

But did she deserve a life with the likes of Mike Newton? She'd turned him down today, but one day she would say yes to him, or to someone else like him. The thought of her wasting away in mediocrity, in some stifling suburb of Phoenix, made me angry.

It was not safe for her to know me. My own instincts aside, what if I couldn't protect her from other dangers in my world? If the Volturi ever found out about her, they would come down on us all.

And that thought led me to an enticing third option. There was nothing to stop me from changing her, right now. She was beautiful as she was. She would be a terrible and glorious immortal; I could picture her. Would she thank me afterwards? No, she would hate and despise me for eternity. Even as I considered it, I knew I could never do it. One taste of her blood, and I wouldn't be able to stop.

I was damned. My soul had been forfeit long ago. There may well be an afterlife for me, but there would be no heaven. She didn't deserve to be damned along with me, or damned _because_ of me.

I had convinced myself to leave once more. I was almost at the window when she stirred again. I turned to see that she'd flung one arm into the empty expanse of bed. Very clearly, she said my name.

"Edward." There was yearning in her voice. I fully expected to see her sitting up, staring at me.

"Yes?" I replied reflexively, shoving my hand over my mouth in horror.

She hadn't woken. Her heart rate and breathing were rapid, and her expression was―I couldn't describe it―but she slept on.

"Edward, I . . . " she mumbled, sighing. The rest of her thought was lost in the fabric of the pillow as she turned over.

My knees buckled. I felt my newly woken heart flame and burst within me. Had it been able to beat she would surely have heard it and woken.

She dreamed of me, and it was no nightmare. The longing with which she'd spoken had been unmistakable. I'd heard Esme speak Carlisle's name in just that way countless times as they locked together in intimate embrace.

I slid down the wall into a crouch. "You win, Bella," I whispered.

I sat in the corner, hugging my knees to hold myself together. Everything had crystallized; everything had fallen into place. There was no way I could let go—no way I could leave. For there was no way I could stay away from her any longer.

I would probably have remained where I was all night had Chief Swan not woken some time later. He shuffled to the bathroom and poured himself a glass of water, his muffled thoughts barely coherent through the haze of sleep.

Frozen, I monitored his slow movements. He seemed about to go back to his room when something caught his attention. Suddenly quite awake, he stopped where he was, in the middle of the hallway. I'd made no sound, but had he somehow sensed I was there?

No, he was just coming to check on her. I'd left myself no time to escape unseen, so I hid, like the proverbial monster, in her closet. His resinous scent entered the room with him. Through the slats in the door, I watched him pull the covers back over her shoulder and kiss the top of her head. She stirred slightly, and sighed again.

I knew I should not be witness to this tender tableau; nor had I any business hearing his thoughts, and living his memories as he recollected her childhood, and considered her now, standing on the cusp of womanhood. The spell had been broken; it was time I left.

I made certain he was asleep again before crossing the room to her window. As I lifted the sash, I glanced to make sure she did not stir. Unbidden, I found myself crossing that short space, compelled to stroke her cheek with the back of my finger, just once. I couldn't help myself.

My skin burned when I lifted it away.

* * *

I had another theory that I wanted to test, and I thought about it on the run home. The idea that I had been formulating since the afternoon took shape clearly now.

There remained the problem that I still technically wasn't speaking to her. Oh well, I was going to hell, anyway. Why not break that rule, too? Why not break all the rules and do the job thoroughly? The thought was actually liberating. It made me quite giddy―and very frightened.

I needed to talk to Alice, but it wasn't she who waylaid me at the front door. It was Emmett, wriggling with excitement like an oversized Labrador retriever.

"Edward." He clapped me on the shoulder, grinning significantly. "You. Me. Road trip. This weekend."

"No," I replied, blinking stupidly. _Not now. I can't leave now. Absolutely not_.

His grip on my shoulder tightened. His eyes narrowed.

"No . . . way?" I continued, knowing he'd see through my pathetic attempt at the vernacular.

He didn't; he was too excited. He laughed, teeth flashing in the low light. "I already cleared it with Carlisle. We can leave after school tomorrow. It's perfect; it'll be sunny all weekend, anyway."

_Sorry you missed the update,_ Alice's apology floated down from Jasper's study. _High pressure system coming in_. Those were not the words that I wanted to hear. I wanted words that foretold warm, wet weather―words like 'pineapple express'.

With visions of monster jeeps and mud-filled craters dancing in his head, Emmett pulled me into the living room.

"We could go down to Goat Rocks. It's not that far to drive." He sensed my hesitation again. "Anyway, come and see what I've dug up."

There were maps of the Cascades spread all over the dining room table, a National Parks web page open on the computer. We had talked about doing this trip since we'd moved back to Washington, but had never got around to it. Why, why, why did it have to be now?

_Where have you been, anyway?_ Alice asked. _Did you lose your shoes again? Honestly, why should I keep buying you nice things when you can't treat them with resp- oh . . . Oh!_

"This trail looks good," he commented. "Lots of skree along the ridge." _Excellent sledding_, he noted.

I didn't see what he pointed at. I was trying to keep up with Alice's thoughts as she rapidly processed her changing visions of the future.

"We could do the Goat Ridge loop, same day. We'd still have time to head out to Rainier after."

_Now, isn't that interesting? _she mused._ I never considered that before . . ._

"Still plenty of snow around," I said mechanically, noticing the webcam imagery he had pulled up. I knew what he was looking for. "It might be a bit early."

_Come on, Alice. What did you see?_

"The earlier, the better," he smirked. "Let's check out the regulations―best make sure we don't break any _rules_." He mimed quotation marks above his head.

_Forecast looks promising_, Alice announced, mulling over new alternatives. That skyline she saw looked nothing like Seattle, but it didn't matter. Every vision showed Bella very much alive, and her eyes were that lovely chocolate brown.

"'Permits required, campfires prohibited, firearms prohibited', ditto, off-road vehicles, yeah, yeah . . . Hey, look at this." he snickered.

Regulation number seven stipulated, "Maximum Number of Heartbeats per Group: Twelve".

"Well, that won't be a problem, will it?"

_It all depends on her choices now,_ she concluded.

Twelve heartbeats . . . the sound of Bella's steady heartbeats as she slept. That was the most important sound in the world to me now.

_No problem at all_, I thought morosely. Resigned, I knew it was necessary for him to hunt soon; his eyes were flinty black. Sometimes Emmett did stupid things when he was really thirsty―reckless things that had got him into trouble in the past.

"Great. I'll see if Rose wants to come, too."

Oh, excellent. It was to be an enforced exile with both of my oversexed siblings. I hoped they'd at least have the decency to bring their own tent.

There was no time to contemplate what I needed to do. I would have to just do it, first thing tomorrow morning.

At his departure, Alice materialized at the bottom of the stairs, grinning from ear to ear. She was bouncing on her toes, making me wonder if my entire family had dined on jack rabbits this evening.

"Not one word," I warned, whirling on her before she could speak.

She made the 'sealed lips' sign. _Tell me everything_, she demanded.

* * *

"Oh, Emmett, don't do it!" Rosalie giggled.

"I promise I won't hurt him. It's just a bit of fun." He turned to Jasper. "Watch and learn, my brother."

"Try not to break the human, okay?" he cautioned.

"I can't look," Alice moaned.

Though the parking lot was more or less deserted, Eric never saw what toppled him. He suddenly found himself upside down in the flowerbed, gasping.

"What the hell?" he panted, somersaulting onto the wet grass.

Emmett had already returned to the other side of the quadrangle. "_That_ was the flying pile-driver," he boasted. "Note the flawless execution?"

Jasper fist-bumped him. "Masterfully done."

"Are you all right?" Angela happened to be nearby. She rushed over, having seen Eric's fall but not the cause. Emmett was too quick. "Oh, you're all mucky."

"What _was_ that?" He shook his head and stood up.

"Maybe you shouldn't try doing handstands while the ground's still so soft," she replied.

"But I wasn't . . . er, thanks," he said, trying to brush the mud off his pants. He suddenly noticed who assisted him. Biting his lip, he looked around.

"Uh, Angela? You asked anyone to the dance yet?"

"Um . . . no."

"Will you go with me?"

She considered for a moment, weighing up her options. "That would be nice," she decided. Sometime later today, I knew I'd hear the sound of Ben Cheney's heart breaking.

"Sweet." Eric grinned.

I had to hand it to my brother: his timing had been perfect.

I could hear Bella's truck approaching in the distance; her own timing was spot-on, as usual. It was now or never. Under the pretence of retrieving my iPod from the car, I circled back to the parking lot. Had I waited a few moments longer and walked a bit further into the school grounds perhaps, four pairs of eyes might not have scrutinized my departure so closely.

_Pavlov's dog . . . _I could feel Jasper's disapproval, but I didn't care. Something about her made me so impulsive.

She pulled into a spot far from where the Volvo was parked. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail today, leaving delicious little ringlets at the nape of her neck.

I was there before she left the cab. She flipped the hood of her jacket over her head while she was still inside, so she didn't notice me leaning against the bed. When she fumbled the key, I grabbed it in mid-air, startling her a little.

"How do you _do_ that?" she asked, shaking her head.

Her scent hung in the mist, pummeling me. I couldn't understand it. I had spent the majority of last night in her room and was never once tempted. Now it was almost like being back at square one.

"Do what?" I said, swallowing back the venom, and dropping the key into her open palm.

"Appear out of thin air."

"Bella," I informed her, regaining control in time to plant tongue firmly in cheek, "It's not my fault if you're exceptionally unobservant."

She looked away, scowling. "Why the traffic jam last night? I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist, not irritating me to death."

"That was for Tyler's sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance." The relief probably caused me to chuckle at little more obviously at yesterday's little pantomime than necessary.

"You . . . " Her furious gasp made me wonder exactly what word was hanging in the thought bubble above her head.

"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," I continued. Indeed, that was utterly impossible.

"So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Tyler's van didn't do the job?"

Why did she have to keep bringing that up? "Bella, you are utterly absurd," I growled, momentarily losing my good humour.

She turned tail and sloshed through the puddles.

"Wait," I called, needlessly; I'd already caught her up.

"I'm sorry, that was rude." She glared at me and kept sloshing. "I'm not saying it isn't true," I clarified. "But it was rude to say it, anyway."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" she grumbled, casting her eyes down at the large puddle that threatened to flow over her runners. Did she refer to me, or to the male student body, collectively?

"I wanted to ask you something but you sidetracked me." She had a knack for doing that.

"Do you have a multiple personality disorder?" she asked, wagging her index finger at me.

"You're doing it again." I was failing utterly to keep my face straight.

"Fine then," she sighed, martyred. "What do you want to ask?"

"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday―you know, the day of the spring dance-"

"Are you trying to be _funny_?" she interrupted, wheeling around, blinking the rain out of her eyes.

_No, you're the comedian, actually―ask Emmett_. "Will you please let me finish?"

She bit her lip and clasped her hands together; her knuckles turned white.

_Here goes nothing..._ "I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride," I offered.

"What?" A raindrop trickled down the bridge of her nose. She rubbed it away with the back of her hand.

"Do you want a ride to Seattle?" I repeated.

"With who?"

"Myself, obviously." Who did she think I meant?

"Why?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Well," the lie poured out smoothly, "I was thinking of going to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure that your truck can make it."

Her scowl returned. "My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern." She began to walk away again, but I wasn't about to let her go.

"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" I asked, recalling her father's concern about its pathetic road performance.

"I don't see how that is any of your business."

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business," I replied, solemnly.

"Honestly, Edward," she said, spinning around-and I felt a thrill go through me as she said my name. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you said you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be." I was able to elucidate now what I could not yesterday.

"Oh, thanks, now that's _all_ cleared up!" Sarcastic little minx.

We'd come to a stop under the overhang of the cafeteria's roof. The cold air nipped the skin above her cheekbones, making them rosy, just like her lips. Lips that I suddenly, desperately wanted to kiss. Me, who'd never wanted to kiss anyone before. Me, with teeth sharp as razors. Instruments of death. How could I, in all good conscience, allow this to continue? But I was going to . . .

"It would be more . . . _prudent_ for you not to be my friend," I explained, "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella."

How was it possible that one great weight could lift from my heart at that admission, only for another to immediately descend?

Her breath caught; her heart continued to thunder, but she still hadn't answered my question.

"Will you go with me to Seattle?" I asked again.

Still she hesitated, and for an awful moment I tasted the same disappointment that Mike had felt when she'd turned him down. In that same moment, I wanted nothing more than for her to tell me to go away and leave her alone.

Finally, she exhaled and nodded slowly, the lovely scent of her breath making me dizzy once more.

_Yes_. She didn't say the word―but it was _yes_. I was headed straight to hell, and I was taking her along for the ride. There was no going back now. At least the journey would be sweet.

"You really _should_ stay away from me," I advised, a final warning, more for myself than her, and one I knew I would not heed. "I'll see you in class."

_Good God_, I thought, as I walked back to the main building. _What have I done?_

* * *

_**A/N:**This was an interesting chapter to write, and one I wanted to be very careful with. I've always had a clear idea of what happened the first time that Edward went to Bella's house and watched her sleep, but I have to admit that I struggled with that part of __Twilight_. Truthfully, I feel he comes off as a bit of a stalker. I'd like to think that my Edward is somewhat self-aware. At least, I hope so. Judge for yourselves: I'm interested in your comments.


	8. Evasive Action

**Stephenie Meyer owns these chapters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Welcome back from a well-deserved vacation to my beta, Lezlee! **

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**  
Blood – Band of Skulls  
It Could Be Sweet – Portishead  
Suite Bergamasque III (Clair de Lune) – Claude Debussy

* * *

**EVASIVE ACTION**

What happened next was about as bad as I could have anticipated. The four approaching figures bore expressions ranging from impatience to downright outrage.

"I knew this would happen." Rosalie's voice rang with pure vitriol. "You just couldn't stay away from her, could you?

Of course she'd been suspicious. It was impossible to keep secrets in our family. I glared back, crossing my arms defiantly; what point was there in denying what she'd seen?

"Rose," Jasper was quickly behind her doing his best to exude calm, but she shrugged him off with a snarl.

"You think I haven't noticed how he's drooled over her since she got here? I'm not blind, you know." _You are so damn selfish!_

"Pots and kettles, Rosalie." I shouldn't have responded to her thought like that. Why did I always let her rile me up?

_Shut up—you're just making it worse_, he agreed, struggling to control her.

"We should have gotten rid of her while we had the chance." Her hiss lowered to a growl and she threw a glare of hatred in the direction Bella had gone.

My hackles rose protectively at the memory of what she had wanted to do to her the night following the accident. Suddenly, we were in each other's faces.

"_Rosalie_." Emmett grabbed her arm. I backed off too, but only because his stance was protective and I didn't want to fight him.

"Oh, quit defending him. She's the worst kind of trouble, and we're all going to pay for it. And it doesn't matter what you've seen either," she cried, whirling on Alice. "It could all go wrong in a heartbeat."

Now Jasper was growling in defense of his mate.

"Not here," Emmett whispered, indicating some nearby humans who were getting curious.

"This is bullshit," she muttered, finally letting him pull her away. With Rosalie angry the way she was, fear, resentment and jealousy were palpable.

He hugged her close, kissing the top of her head as she turned it into his shoulder. _Bad timing, bro_. The tenor of his thought sounded resigned more than anything else.

Alice exhaled audibly. "You could have waited 'til we'd seen her off," she chastised. "It's better if you don't follow. Wait for me."

She took Jasper's hand, and they crossed the quadrangle well back from Emmett and Rosalie. I knew what he whispered to her as they went away. He trusted Alice's sight, but the idea of a potential relationship between me and Bella made him uneasy.

Once again, my actions had caused strife in my family. Rosalie was right, of course. I _was_ selfish, and I was endangering everyone, Bella included. It tempted fate in the worst way.

Oh, Bella – being around her was like walking a tightrope. By the time I'd left her room last night, I'd become quite desensitized to her scent, yet this morning it had sent me reeling again. If I couldn't predict my reactions, how could I control them? What if my best intentions weren't enough? I paced on the step until Alice returned.

"Well, that was unpleasant," she quipped, blowing out a little puff of air. Seeing my wince, she squeezed my arm sympathetically. "She'll get over it. But how'd it go with your girlfriend?"

_Girlfriend_. I hadn't even been thinking in those terms yet. "She thinks I'm a lunatic."

"Evidently," she snorted. "But what did she say?"

"She said yes." Panic set in at full throttle. "Alice, I shouldn't do this. It's not safe for me to be alone with her."

"Relax." She was looking ahead to next Saturday. "God, anyone would think you hadn't been on a date in a hundred years."

I wasn't in a joking mood. "Nothing's changed about what you saw last night?"

"I see her as part of our family. That has never changed. But right now everything points to her remaining human."

The late bell rang, but she wouldn't be hurried. She squinted into the distance as we entered the rapidly clearing corridor, checking scenarios, decisions… and the weather. I was appalled to behold the scene of golden-green dappled sunlight she showed me.

"Are you sure?" I groaned. What were the odds of two sunny weekends in a row in the Pacific Northwest? "But, we're supposed to go to Seattle. She wants to go to a decent bookstore, look at clothes"- this I had gleaned from Chief Swan's memory -"How am I supposed to take her out in sunny weather?"

"So, wait until night time. Take her to dinner and a movie instead." The afternoon scenery in her mind remained resiliently balmy.

Dinner. A potential nightmare I hadn't even contemplated. How would I explain my apparent lack of appetite to her?

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I should never have let you talk me into this…"

"You'll work it out," she assured me mildly, the corner of her mouth turning up in a knowing smile. "Cheer up, it's all good." She refused to let me in on her private joke. She just laughed at my continued incredulity.

"Saturday looks quite promising," she guaranteed, tweaking the collar of my shirt in a motherly gesture – we had stopped outside my English classroom. "You've got a date. _A date_. Look, I'd better go. Mr. Banner's going to chew me out for being late as it is. See you at lunch, okay?"

"Ah, Mr. Cullen, we're honoured by your presence. Please do sit down."

Mr. Berty's poised hand flicked the lights off as I shut the door. The credits of an ancient BBC production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ spooled on the television screen. I wasn't that late, and I was too preoccupied to pay attention to his sarcasm.

I considered reneging my offer when I spoke to her next. I didn't want to – the whole point of this ruse was to keep her from going to Seattle on her own. Also, what if prolonged exposure to her scent was another key to self-control? What better way would there be to test the theory?

The argument continued like a tennis match in my head, until it was interrupted by an urgent knock at the door. Alice was back, and she was unmistakably agitated.

"May I please speak with Edward, sir?" a note passed into Mr. Berty's hand.

"I'm afraid he's busy at the moment," he snapped irritably. "But I'll be sure to deliver the message."

Shutting the door in her face, he waved the piece of paper at me. The note, written on a hall pass in Mrs. Cope's forged handwriting, read:

"Please call the hospital."

That was the emergency signal. Whatever had happened, it was bad. Indeed, Alice was still outside the door. A chill ran through me as she yelled, at top mental volume, _Blood typing in Bio. Meet us at break._

Today, of all days. Fate was indeed the cruelest mistress...

They waited at the rendezvous point, a clearing in the woods just behind the soccer fields. Jasper was playing hacky-sack with a baseball sized rock; Alice was reading. They appeared relaxed on the surface, but I knew better.

"How close a call was it?" I tried to sound calm.

"Too close," she sighed. "They'd already started when I got there. I played faint and made a run for it. Banner's got two boxes full of testing kits in the lab. Looks like enough for all his classes today."

"What about Emmett and Rose?" They didn't have Biology until later in the afternoon.

"Alice got notes to them; they know what's going on," Jasper replied. "They'll be fine as long as they stay out of the science wing."

Just discussing human blood made him thirsty; I saw it in his eyes.

"We should leave now." He looked at me, expectantly.

I had promised Bella that I would see her in class. What would she think if I didn't turn up, and then followed today's unexplained absence with another tomorrow? She was suspicious enough about me as it was.

"I can't leave yet," I mumbled, stubbing the ground with my toe.

"It's too dangerous," he argued.

"We really should leave," Alice agreed. _There'll be another time_, she urged.

_No, there wouldn't be…_ "You two go. I'll drive the others home this afternoon."

"Edward, be sensible."

"I'm not leaving now," I said stubbornly. "I need to talk to Bella first."

_He doesn't _need_ to talk to her at all_, he thought tersely. He was right of course.

"I just want to let her know that I won't be in class today. I'll tell her at lunch, and then we can go. Please," I turned to Alice. "I need your help. My control isn't-"

"I think Alice has run enough interference for you lately," he interjected.

"Jazz-"

"It's true. Let him fight his own battles."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, love." She shook her head, "I already saw him sitting alone at lunch. Scratch that. He'll have company." In her vision, a silhouette with long dark hair appeared in a chair opposite me.

My sister waited at our usual spot - the landing in the main foyer - alone. I felt wretched.

"Not one word," she pre-empted my apology, effectively repaying me for cutting her off last night. "I just want to say, for the record, that I don't approve of what you're about to do."

"Nor do I," I muttered.

Jasper appeared on her other side. He didn't acknowledge me.

"I know what you're thinking, and I agree with you, completely," I told him. "Can we please talk about this at home tonight?"

Taken aback, he nodded stiffly, and took Alice's hand.

"All right then," she sighed, bracing herself.

_Just sit down. We'll hold Rose off as long as we can, but don't push it. Come back as soon as you've told her. _

Deliberately not looking at my siblings who were already at our usual table, I made a bee-line for another on the far side of the cafeteria.

"What the hell is he doing?" Rosalie hissed, as Alice and Jasper took their accustomed seats.

_Hell, yes. I was happily on my way..._

Bella entered the room behind Jessica, appearing even more apprehensive than usual. Rosalie snarled, putting two and two rapidly together.

"Oh, he just wanted to tell her that he wouldn't be in Bio this afternoon. He said he'll be right back." Alice's voice was casual but she bared her teeth when she smiled. "He wants to allay her suspicions about his frequent absences."

_Suspicions, my ass_, Rosalie seethed.

My foot jiggled uncontrollably under the table as I watched Bella move through the service line. She, too, appeared agitated, taking quick, nervous glances around the room, until finally casting a surreptitious eye to our customary table. Her face fell noticeably as she saw only the other four seated there.

She bought no food, only a bottle of drink, and sat down with her friends, looking glum. Jessica babbled on about her plans for the dance, oblivious to her friend's expression or inattention.

"I totally thought Mike wanted to go with you… You're okay with that though, right? It's not gonna be weird?"

"No. Zero weirdness," she replied, her gaze straying to the empty seat next to Emmett once more.

"Cool. Angela and Eric are going together, and so are Lauren and Tyler. You should still come anw-" _Oh, my God, is he staring at me? Oh..! Oh, geez… _she scoffed, finally realizing that it was not her attention I sought.

"Speaking of weird, Edward Cullen is staring at you again," she smirked. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today."

Her head snapped up and she followed the jut of Jessica's chin. Nerves caused my unbeating heart to lurch in my chest, but I managed to smile normally and motion for her to join me.

She didn't move.

"Does he mean you?" Jessica asked, the pitch of her shrill voice escalating in astonishment.

"Um, maybe he needs help with his Biology homework," she finally murmured. "I'd better go see what he wants."

Everyone at her table gaped at her departure; what gave me most pleasure was the way Lauren Mallory's jaw all but came unhinged. She had doggedly pursued me last year, and hadn't taken my blunt rejection well. Her malicious mind repelled me.

Perplexed and beautiful, she came to a stop behind the chair opposite me, holding it to her protectively. That mouthwatering ambrosia of lavender and freesia enveloped me once more.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" I offered, smiling politely.

She responded mechanically, watching me cautiously, _as though I might bite_. The seconds ticked by… It became a little awkward waiting for her to speak.

"This is different," she finally declared.

Well…" How to begin? Suddenly, the words tumbled out. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

The little crease reappeared between her eyes, but a smile twitched at her lips. "You know I don't have any idea what you mean," she eventually pointed out.

"I know." And I was determined to keep it that way. Changing the subject, I pointed out, "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."

They weren't angry; they were flabbergasted, and a little jealous maybe_. No way! He never talks to anybody, except his family… What do you think he wants? _

"They'll survive," she predicted. How easily she dismissed them.

"I may not give you back, though." In fact, I was sure of that. Her reaction made me laugh. "You look worried." _You should be_.

"No-o." She cleared her throat, regaining composure. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?"

"I told you – I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up."

"Giving up?" she repeated.

"Yes – giving up trying to be good," I affirmed loudly. I saw Rosalie's reaction through Emmett's eyes. Only his grip on her hand kept her seated.

_So help me God. You get back here now, or I'll drag you out myself! _

"I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may."

"You lost me again," She shook her head with a wry smile.

"I always say too much when I'm talking to you – that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry – I don't understand any of it," she chuckled.

"I'm counting on that."

"So, in plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…" Well, we had to start somewhere.

"Or not…" she muttered, misreading my hesitation. She began to roll the lemonade bottle back and forth between her hands.

I grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you."

"You say that a lot," she noted, her voice trembling.

"Yes, because you're not listening to me," I reiterated. "I'm still waiting for you to believe it. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

She was smart. She should run from me while she could.

"I think you've made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too." Her eyes narrowed, though the pique didn't last long. "So long as I'm being… not smart, we'll try to be friends?" Her befuddlement was charming.

"That sounds about right."

She cast her eyes down at the lemonade bottle once more, and the question I had been dying to ask her, every minute of every day since we had first met, fell unbidden from my lips.

"What are you thinking?"

Those large, clear eyes leveled on me once more. "I'm trying to figure out what you are," she said simply.

She wanted to know _what_ I was, not _who_ I was. The girl missed nothing.

"And are you having any luck with that?" My tone might have been casual, but I was dying to know what she had pieced together.

"Not too much," she admitted.

"What are your theories?" I teased. "Won't you tell me?" I pressed when she blushed and looked away again.

Her eyes widened at my answering smile. The lovely blush deepened, and spread to the tips of her ears.

"Too embarrassing," she declared emphatically.

"That's really frustrating, you know," I complained.

"No," she disagreed, her eyes narrowing again, suddenly spirited. "I can't imagine why that would be frustrating at all – just because someone refuses to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while they're making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean… now, why would that be frustrating?"

"Or better," - she was on a roll - "say that person did a wide range of bizarre things – from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very non-frustrating."

It was like receiving a tongue-lashing from an exquisite baby bird.

"You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?" I noted.

"I don't like double standards."

She had me there, making me grateful for the momentary distraction of Mike's internal debate about whether or not to come and break up the argument he perceived between us. She didn't like it when I told her that, nor did she like it when I referred to him as her boyfriend.

"I don't know who you're talking about," she replied, coolly. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."

"Except me, of course."

"Yes. Except for you." I sat back against the chair, regarding this absolutely ordinary girl who could conceal her thoughts from me so completely. How _did_ she do it? "I wonder why that is."

She squirmed uncomfortably, feigning absolute absorption in the task of unscrewing the lid of the lemonade bottle and taking a thirsty swig.

"He is totally flirting with her," Angela whispered.

"I _know_!" Jessica elbowed Lauren. "I told you he wasn't gay."

_He looks at her like she's something to eat..._

It was so hard not to respond to Mike's observation, because he was right: she was delicious - the most delectable meal I could possibly imagine. Predator and prey, we shared a table, yet sustenance was the last thing on my mind.

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked, trying not to direct my gaze in his direction.

"No." She still refused to look at me. "You?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

My brothers didn't miss the joke, either._ Smooth, Romeo, _snickered Emmett_. All right, you've had your fun. Hurry up and deliver the bad news._

But Bella had distracted me again. "Can you do me a favour?" she asked, putting me immediately on guard.

"That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," she assured, slowly tracing the circular opening of the lemonade bottle with her pinkie.

Somehow she managed to turn fidgeting with that inconsequential article into an erotic act. I was thankful for the opaque surface of the table between us.

"I just wondered…" she bit her lip; and the velocity of the tracing increased. "If you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared."

"That sounds fair," I acquiesced, swallowing both bubbling laughter and pooling venom.

"Thanks."

"Then, can I have one answer in return?" I demanded, leaning in close, chin in hand. I hadn't noticed the flecks of gold and green in her eyes before.

"One," she allowed, arching an eyebrow, hinting a smile.

"Tell me one theory."

She blushed again, shaking her head vehemently. "Not that one."

"You didn't qualify, you just promised one answer," I reminded her.

"And you've broken promises yourself," she reminded me.

"Just one theory - I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." She managed to turn an even deeper shade of red. She was truly delightful.

_I've had it with you. Don't expect me to stand by you when you kill her, Edward. _

I heard Rosalie's threat somewhere in the background but she was irrelevant now. Her jealousy didn't matter, and Jasper's trepidations didn't matter. All that mattered was the intoxicating bubble that cocooned the two of us.

"Please?" I begged, leaning closer, my eyes half closed as I inhaled the aroma of her strawberry shampoo.

"Er, what?" Was she feeling that strange current of electricity stirring between us again, too?

_Hurry up. I can't stand Rosalie much longer…_ Jasper's teeth gritted.

"Please tell me one little theory," I repeated.

"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" she guessed.

Was that the best she could do? "That's not very creative."

"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," she admitted.

"You're not even close."

"No spiders?"

"Nope."

"And no radioactivity?"

"None."

"Dang," she sighed.

"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," I told her smugly, quashing what was, no doubt, her next theory.

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

"Sorry."

"I'll figure it out eventually," she vowed.

"I wish you wouldn't try." _You wouldn't like me if you knew me._

"Because…?" her interest was piqued now.

"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?"

_See you at home, Superman_, called Alice. _We're done_. From the corner of my eye, I watched her and Jasper leave. …_Please be careful_, she begged.

"Oh." Intuition flashed in Bella's eyes again. "I see."

"Do you?" Had I said too much once more?

"You're dangerous?" she surmised, the pulse in her neck quickening suddenly. I had to swallow and look away.

"But not bad," she continued, shaking her head. "No, I don't believe you're bad."

I was bad. I was not even worthy of looking her in the eye. "You're wrong," I whispered, taking the bottle lid from her, and spinning it on its side.

It was pathetic, but I wanted to keep something of hers with me while we were apart this weekend.

Rosalie and Emmett left through an opposite exit. Rosalie's face betrayed nothing but her parting thought revealed what boiled underneath.

_How could you do this to me?_

The cafeteria emptied rapidly. "We're going to be late," Bella pointed out, looking around.

I wanted her to stay, but I wasn't about to start corrupting her soul by asking her to skip class with me.

"I'm not going to class today," I finally said, spinning the lid, faster and faster, until it became a tiny blur.

"Why not?"

"It's healthy to ditch now and again." _Healthier for all concerned_.

"Well, I'm going," she declared.

"I'll see you later, then."

Concentrating on the vortex of the bottle lid, forcing it to anchor me in place, I knew that if I followed her, one stupid piece of plastic would become a memento of the dead.

She hesitated, but then hurried out of the cafeteria as the first bell sounded.

I contemplated going for a drive, deciding instead to wait in the car for Rose and Emmett. Something - I don't know if it was anticipation of danger, or just the hope that I might still see her again before I left - kept me near the school. I had music, and a book of poetry to pass the time. I didn't normally read post-modern verse, but the volume I had recently picked up was very good.

It helped me not to think about the lancet piercing the skin of her thumb. It took my mind off the vision of a single ruby droplet breaking through, welling, falling, and staining the white card below…

A movement in the foreground caused me to glance up. I realized that the piano melody playing on the stereo was the same one I had used to calm myself the last time I hid here, fleeing the siren call of her blood.

Two familiar figures materialized in the misty distance.

Mike held Bella by the waist, dragging her slowly between the buildings. Where was he taking her? Wherever it was, she followed him unwillingly. She protested, and came to a stop. With horror, I watched her sink slowly to the wet concrete, slumping over on her side.

"Wow, you're green, Bella," he remarked. _Is she gonna throw up?_

What had he done to her? If he had hurt her, I would kill him.

I suddenly found myself out of the car, approaching rapidly, but the faint smell of human blood stopped me short. One of his hands was stuffed in his pocket.

Oh, God. What if that had been her blood? I could have lost control and killed them both. _Stop and think, Edward! This isn't like you!_

"What's wrong – is she hurt?" I demanded.

_Where'd he come from?_ "I think she's fainted," he replied. "I don't know what happened; she didn't even stick her finger." _I don't remember how to do CPR either._

Her eyes were shut tight; her breathing, shallow, but – thankfully - no blood had broken the skin. Her heart beat weakly, and a sheen of clammy moisture dewed on her face, but he hadn't managed to kill her. Still, I had absolutely no idea if she was conscious or not.

"Bella, can you hear me?" I queried tentatively.

"No. Go away." Her recent swoon had obviously not affected her hearing.

"I was taking her to the nurse," he explained. "But she wouldn't go any further."

"I'll take her," I told him. "You can go back to class." _Run along now, boy._

He wouldn't be thwarted. "I'm supposed to do it," he said proprietarily. What he thought was, _She's mine._

_My Bella. Not yours._

His inept ministrations could only cause more harm, and I had no intention of arguing with him. It was imperative to remove her from his clutches.

Careful not to make contact with her skin, I scooped her up. I would have liked to have hold her close but was unsure how much pressure to exert lest I accidentally crush her bones; she weighed next to nothing. Also, her scent, propelled by her increasingly rapid heartbeat, made it uncomfortable. Though it was awkward, I held her at arm's length.

"Put me down!" she gasped.

"Hey!" Mike called, now far behind us. _Who the hell does he think he is? He wasn't even in class!_

"You look awful," I told her, grinning.

"Put me back on the sidewalk," she demanded, more weakly.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" How ironic that we both shared an aversion to that same bodily fluid. "And not even your own blood."

Crossing the threshold of the school with her in my arms brought the strangest notion into my head. I kicked the door to the office open with my foot, and instead of startling a pair of middle-aged women, the room was momentarily peopled with family – mine and hers – and friendly faces I didn't yet recognize. The group turned as one, wearing pleased, expectant expressions…

"She's just a little faint," I explained, shaking off the reverie, and setting her down on the cot by the window in the nurse's office. "They're blood typing in biology."

"There's always one," the nurse predicted, setting her novel down and pulling on some gloves.

_And of course, that _one _would have to be her_, I thought.

Her scent enveloped me like a fog in the close, stuffy office. Momentarily dizzy, I sought relief against the far wall. The sensation passed quickly though; and I was pleased that I'd remained in such close proximity – held her, even - without being overcome.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass," the nurse soothed.

"I know."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Does this happen a lot?"

"Sometimes," she admitted pathetically. I had to cough to hide another laugh, reminding the nurse that I was still there.

"You can go back to class now," she dismissed me.

"I'm supposed to stay with her," I asserted, with just enough vampire timbre in my voice that she pursed her lips, but didn't argue.

"You were right," Bella moaned, as the nurse went to get her a cold compress.

"I usually am – but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy," she recited, taking great gulps of air.

"You scared me for a minute there," I admitted. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Ha, ha." The sarcasm was negated somewhat by the fact that her eyes were still squeezed shut.

"Honestly – I've seen corpses with better colour. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder." I'd said too much again...

"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."

"He absolutely loathes me," I gloated.

"You can't know that," she contradicted.

"I saw his face – I could tell." That, alone would have given him away, but his _thoughts!_

"How did you see me?" she asked. "I thought you were ditching."

"I was in my car, listening to a CD."

The nurse returned with the compress, intending to have Bella lie down for a bit longer, when Mrs. Cope announced the arrival of another invalid. The metallic tang of blood hit me before Mike dragged a pasty Lee Stephens through the door.

"Oh, no," I muttered, inhaling a gasp of clean air before holding my breath. "Go out to the office Bella." I pulled her off the cot in response to her questioning look. "Trust me – go."

As Lee collapsed on the adjoining cot, she spun and darted out of the nurse's station, shutting the door behind her.

"You actually listened to me." I was amazed.

"I smelled the blood," she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"People can't smell blood-"

"Well, I can – that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."

What she had described were tastes, not smells. How could she know that? Who _was_ this creature?

"What?" she asked.

"It's nothing."

Mike exited the infirmary. "You look better," he said to her. _So, what's he still doing here?_ he wondered, throwing me a look of hatred.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," she warned him.

"It's not bleeding anymore," he sulked. "Are you going back to class?"

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?"

I saw the beach he had in mind, and the panic rose again. Even if it wasn't sunny this weekend, I couldn't watch her there; none of us could. What if there was an accident? What if she got hurt?

"Sure, I said I was in," she replied. It seemed like she was forcing her enthusiasm again.

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten," he announced. _Us, not you_, his eyes flickered to me.

"I'll be there," she assured him.

"I'll see you in Gym then." He was afraid she would skip class with me instead.

"See you," she sighed, watching him walk away. "Oh God…Gym…" she muttered, assuming the mantle of the condemned prisoner once again.

"I can take care of that," I told her. "Go sit down and look pale."

She wilted appropriately into a nearby folding chair while I charmed Mrs. Cope into excusing her from class. I laid it on a bit more thickly than I should have, causing my concern for her safety to get the better of me.

"Actually, I think I should take her home now…" I heard myself saying.

"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" she trilled.

"No, I have Mrs. Goff. She won't mind." _She hates me_.

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bella," she called. _What a nice boy he is…_

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" I asked acerbically once Mrs. Cope's back was turned.

"I'll walk," she decided, and I held the door open for her. She still seemed a little unsteady on her feet.

"Thanks. It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

"Anytime," I promised. I meant that.

"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?"

"Where are you all going, again?" I knew very well where they were going. It was somewhere that I wouldn't be welcome unless I intended to start a war.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach."

"I really don't think I was invited."

She sighed. "I just invited you."

"Let's not you and I push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." Though I very much enjoyed the idea of sending him apoplectic.

"Mike-schmike," she muttered. I enjoyed her casual dismissal of him, too.

We were near the parking lot now, and she veered left, towards her truck.

"Where do you think you're going?" I demanded, grabbing the material of her jacket at the shoulder. It was hard to do that slowly and carefully, and not crush her collarbone in haste.

"I'm going home," she replied, confused.

"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"

"What condition? And what about my truck?" she demanded.

Christ, what about the truck? And what was I _doing_ driving her home? Her well-being was paramount, but I'd tempted fate enough today.

"I'll have Alice drop it off after school." I improvised, throwing all my willpower into the image of a head of spiky black hair barely visible above the steering wheel.

_Please Alice, please? _

Meanwhile, Bella huffed and puffed, and proclaimed herself perfectly capable of driving herself home. I waited for the tantrum to subside as she became increasingly soaked by the sheeting rain.

"I'll just drag you back," I threatened, guessing she was going to make another run for the truck.

With dignity belying her bedraggled appearance, she lowered herself stiffly into the passenger seat. Her wet hair had curled into those delectable ringlets, and it was all I could do not to reach out and take one of them between my fingers.

"This is completely unnecessary," she pouted.

Ignoring her, I turned the heater up full blast – unsure what level would make her comfortable. The air conditioning swirled her scent around the car, making it hard to concentrate on the road until the burn faded.

The CD continued playing where it had left off.

"Clair de Lune?" she asked, surprised.

I was surprised, too. How many teenagers would recognize that melody? "You know Debussy?"

"Not well," she admitted. "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the house – I only know my favourites."

"It's one of my favourites, too."She had good taste.

I remembered what she had said about her mother during our one conversation in Biology, and her sadness when she spoke of her during sleep.

"What is your mother like?" I suddenly needed to know.

"She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier." - Had she looked in a mirror lately? - "I have too much Charlie in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." She stopped speaking abruptly, looking very sad.

There it was again – the depth of thought, the maturity. This was not the speech of a regular teenager. Why was she so different?

I pulled to a stop; we were in her driveway. "How old are you, Bella?" I just had to ask.

"I'm seventeen," she replied, puzzled. The frustration in my voice must have been evident.

"You don't seem seventeen."

Unexpectedly, she laughed. "My mom always said that I was born thirty-five years old, and that I get more middle aged every year." She sighed, and traced a finger on the receding condensation on her window. "Somebody has to be the adult…

"You don't seem like a junior in high school yourself," she noted, intuition flashing in her eyes again.

Did she also notice that there was no condensation on the driver's side window?

"Why did your mother marry Phil?" I asked to distract her.

It took her a moment to answer. "My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." She shook her head like she couldn't fathom the attraction.

"Do you approve?"

"Does it matter? I want her to be happy, and he is who she wants."

"That's very generous… I wonder…"

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" _No matter _what_ your choice was?_

"I-I think so," I wondered why she stammered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little different."

"No one too scary, then," I teased.

She grinned. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's yours?"

"Do you think that I could be scary?" I asked instead. Could she sense the warning beneath the playful phrasing of my question?

For an instant, as she reflected, I know I saw fear in her eyes. It was gone just as quickly, and her answer was also playfully phrased."Hmmm… I think you _could_ be, if you wanted to."

"Are you frightened of me, now?"

"No."

That pleased me. I didn't want her to be afraid, though she should be.

"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" She asked after a pause. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

"What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?" she confirmed.

"Yes."

She paused. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." Her warm eyes roamed my face.

"Yes." Just envisaging gentle Esme's face made me smile. "I couldn't imagine two better people."

"And your brother and sister?"

Nothing I had told her so far had been untrue, and I didn't want to start lying now. It was best to end the conversation here.

"My brother and sister…" I made a show of glancing at the dashboard clock, "and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry. I guess you have to go."

I didn't want to leave her. I had become accustomed to the proximity of her scent; more than that, I wanted her there, safe, beside me. Always.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident," I tried to joke.

She sighed again, resigned. "I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks."

_Only one or two…_ I found myself laughing at her unintended irony. Despite that, I very much wanted her to know, to understand my secret. What would she do if she found out? Would I ever see her again?

"Have fun at the beach," I wished told her, nodding at the sheeting rain. "… good weather for sunbathing."

Though I wouldn't have been able to watch her down at La Push, the horror of not knowing she would be safe was already gnawing at me.

She seemed anxious, too. "Won't I see you tomorrow?" she asked.

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?"

_Well, my brother wants to glut himself on bear's blood, and if I'm lucky, I'll bag a mountain lion, but all you need to know is that_, "We're going hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

"Oh. Well, have fun." She tried to sound enthusiastic, much as I was trying to muster enthusiasm about the camping trip for Emmett's sake.

The bottle top was still in my pocket. I moved it between the fingers of my left hand, like they were the rungs of a ladder for it to climb, up and down, up and down. I didn't want it to be all I had to remember her by when I returned. She'd heeded my warning to leave the office earlier; maybe she'd listen to me now…

"Will you do something for me this weekend?" I asked, and she cocked her head to the side, interest piqued once more. "Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people that attract danger like a magnet. So…" - I felt sick as my imagination took the reigns – "try not to fall into the ocean, or get run over or anything, all right?"

As usual, she got the wrong end of the stick. "I'll see what I can do," she snapped, jumping out into the rain, slamming the door with excessive force.

Her scent and warmth remained in the leather of her seat, as it remained with me.

Once out of sight, I rolled the windows down, and turned the air conditioning up to full. It did little to dissipate her scent; it only got the upholstery wet.

_What now?_ There was no way I could drive Emmett and Rosalie home with Bella's scent so fresh in the car. There was no time to go home and switch cars, and there was no way Rosalie would walk home in the sheeting rain. Any of those scenarios would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

I hoped to God that Alice had been watching.

Driving across the main street, I made a cowardly deal with myself. If I got to the school and they weren't waiting, I'd risk going home and switching cars. If they were already waiting, I'd just gun the engine and go. Go where, I didn't know. How long would it take Rosalie to cool off?

With just minutes until the final bell, and filled with trepidation, I pulled into the parking lot.

Rosalie's red M3 was parked in my usual spot, key in the ignition.

Across the lot, a tiny figure sat in the cab of Bella's truck.

"Thank you," I breathed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."


	9. Wilderness

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Kudos as always, to my beta Lezlee.**

* * *

**Playlist:**

This chapter generated an entire playlist of its own, entitled "Lost Weekend", which you can find on Grooveshark: grooveshark # / user / woodlily / 8617551 / playlists ? src = 5

Thanks to my brother, the Headbanging Professor, whose CD collection was my font of metal-induced mayhem and inspiration.

And... for those who might not know, or might be too young to remember: the cheesy song Emmett raps to in this chapter is "Baby Got Back" by Sir MixALot.

* * *

**WILDERNESS**

My sister's steely gaze didn't waver as I pulled into the empty stall beside her. Exhaling a last word of gratitude for her foresight, I let my head rest against the steering wheel, feeling the tension ebb away. Tension that was rapidly replaced by chagrin, lifting the veil on my inexcusably reckless behaviour.

I was absolutely undeserving of her rescue. How would I make amends for this?

There wasn't time to wallow. Abruptly, the truck's engine roared to life; Alice glared at me, and then flicked her eyes back the way I'd come, revving it once more.

_Can __we __talk?_ I signaled. She shook her head―_Not __now__―_and backed rapidly―as rapidly as the truck could manage―out of the stall. She was right, of course; we had to move.

Traffic was typically light; the afternoon commute, such as it was in Forks, had yet to begin. Even the ponderously slow Chevy was able to cross the town centre in a decent interval. As I followed in the wake of its billowing black exhaust smoke, I knew I deserved every single silent recrimination that emanated from the cab.

Alice's internal tirade trailed off as we pulled into Bella's street. Three doors down from the white house, she cut the engine, put it in neutral, and hopped out into the rain. I braked just behind, appalled. I knew what she planned to do; though she was more than capable, her expensive designer attire was hardly wash-and-wear.

"Let me help," I offered, getting out to grab the back bumper. She just growled at me. Alice never growled at me.

I could only return to my vehicle and coast behind, keeping watch for curious neighbours who might choose that moment to glance out their windows. The impossible sight of a ninety-pound girl pushing a half-ton pick-up by herself down the street would not go unremarked.

She rolled it into the driveway, leaving the key in the ignition, just as Bella always did. The implicit trust in others that people possessed here never failed to surprise me. Anywhere else, it would have been an open invitation to theft.

On the other hand, much like Rosalie's M3, which Alice had also left behind, keyed-in, that truck was probably too noticeable to steal. Everyone knew who Bella's father was.

With a final, cursory look around the deserted street, she stalked back to the Volvo. I rolled the passenger-side window down.

"I'm sorry-" I began.

"Save it." She held up one hand, opening the door with the other. "Oh, it's all wet," she muttered irritably, throwing her jacket on the seat.

Sitting down, she inhaled deeply, catching the last lingering trace of Bella's scent. It was faint enough that it didn't ignite her thirst, but I could tell it affected her. She relaxed, and her glare softened a little. I sensed a different approach was in order.

"Thank you for bringing Rosalie's car, Alice. And, I'm sorry for causing such trouble. I'm―I'm in your debt."

"I know you are," she sighed. "And I intend to collect some time, don't you worry."

There was the faintest shadow of humour in her thoughts as she foresaw me spending another decade in servitude as personal assistant on her shopping sprees. She never could stay angry with me for long. Nevertheless, the uncommon tension between us caused me to babble.

"I don't know what came over me at lunch. I can't seem to think straight around her. It's like being bewitched . . . "

"Oh, _please_." She rolled her eyes. "You knew exactly what you were doing; don't blame the girl."

She was right. It had been liberating to speak freely with Bella, out in the open. I'd enjoyed the disbelief on the faces of her friends, and hadn't cared what any of my family members thought or felt. The lack of caution was unlike me.

"You know, if you want me to keep helping you, you're going to have to quit breaking promises," she went on. I concentrated on the road, letting her vent.

"Staying at school was stupid and dangerous."

"I'm not sorry about that," I replied, probably more brusquely than I'd intended.

She gave me a glare of open-mouthed exasperation; then I told her what happened after she and Jasper went home. A smile ghosted her lips as she considered our inadvertent sanguinity.

"So why'd you call on me? "Esme could have taken your car home, and you could have driven Bella yourself, in her truck-"

"Out of the question. I'm trying to keep her alive―despite your predictions to the contrary."

My barb stirred her anger again, and the wave of hurt that emanated underneath it was a just reprimand. It seemed that every time I opened my mouth today, my foot landed squarely inside of it.

"You're the only one I can count on right now," I soothed. "Besides," I added, gauging her reaction, "I know you that want to be friends with her, too."

She pursed her lips. _Touché, __brother_. "It would be nice to have a friend," she finally acknowledged, unable to hide the longing in her thoughts.

_And __a __chance __to __relive __your __lost __humanity __too, __little __sister? _I mused. "Even if it is fraught with disaster."

"Fraught?" She barked a laugh. "Who says _that_, nowadays?"

"You know what I mean."

"Oh, Edward . . . You don't still think you'll end up killing her, do you?"

We were nearly at the gravel road that led home, but the recurring visions of newborn red eyes and cold death were making it difficult to negotiate the traffic.

"It's not safe for her to associate with me," I finally managed, after I'd turned off the highway.

She sighed. "You know that's not what I saw. Really, I think she's just one of those accident-prone people."

It made me desperate to imagine what might happen to her this weekend, left to her own devices. I had no business leaving Forks.

"All the more reason for me to stay and watch out for her. What if something happens, like a fire, or a burglary? I need to be there."

"Really? And there's no other reason you feel compelled to sit outside her window late at night?"

Alice didn't exactly know 'everything', despite what she'd demanded of me last night. She didn't know that I'd gone so far as to trespass into Bella's room. In the light of day, it was yet one more action that caused me shame.

"I told you: I wanted to find out if there was a way to hear her thoughts." That much was true. "I'm not stalking her, and I'm not a voyeur." Given my recent behaviour however, I was no longer certain of that last statement.

"You know, normal people actually _talk_ to their love interests in order to find out more about them."

I had specifically avoided using the 'L' word when I spoke with her last night, too. I could barely fathom the implication of what I was feeling; I wasn't about to shout it from the rooftops.

"There is _nothing_ normal about this situation." I pulled into the garage, but we both continued to sit where we were for several minutes.

"You can't protect her from life, Edward," she eventually ventured, softly. "Though it's nice that you want to."

"I can't protect her from me, either. But you were right weeks ago: there's no way I can leave now."

She rubbed two fingers against either side of her head, and sighed. "Yes, you can. You need to hunt. You feel better when you do. And Emmett needs this trip, too. Go!" she commanded, when I shook my head. "I'll keep an eye on her."

"You can't watch her at La Push."

"No. And I can't watch when it's sunny, either. So, you'll just have to trust the frail little humans to step up to the mark if she decides to throw herself into a tide pool, or jump off a cliff."

How could she even joke about that? Still, it was evident that she had already foreseen this. So too, had she foreseen my reparation. In addition to servitude as her shopping-flunkey, I would also do time as mannequin for her clothing designs.

"Just go." She patted my shoulder. "Keep your phone on. I'll call if I need to."

I found the bottle lid in my pocket, and flipped it between my fingers.

"If something happens while you're watching, she's not to be changed," I admonished, clutching a last shred of dignity. "It doesn't matter what you've seen."

"I won't let her die-" She suddenly found herself wincing at unexpected bloodlust. "Fine," she finished, sullenness no mask for distress. "I don't think I could do it without killing her, anyway."

"I mean it. It can't happen without her consent. She can't know what we are."

"She'll have to find out soon. She already has questions. If you want a relationship with her, you'll need to be honest."

I knew that, of course. The dread of that revelation was not something to dwell on now. Emmett and Rose would be home before long, and I had promised to speak with Jasper before I left.

I hugged my sister. "Thank you," I said to her, for what seemed like the hundredth time today.

* * *

"Edward, get your ass down here!" Emmett bellowed, pacing back and forth across the porch.

I threw some CDs into a box, and collected the pile of gear on my bed.

_Goddamn__it__.__.__.__knew __he __wouldn__'__t __be __ready on time__.__.__._"Five minutes, or I'm leaving without you."

_Coming, coming . . . _

"HEY!"

"Emmett, shush!" Esme called from the kitchen.

_By __the __time __we __get __there, __all __the __good __game __will__'__ve __migrated__.__.__._his grumbling faded as he stomped across the yard towards the outbuildings.

I lugged my duffle bag down the stairs.

"See you Sunday," I responded in return to my mother's silent request that I have fun. I wished that Carlisle hadn't been working the late shift. I needed to talk to him. Only his wisdom could help me make sense of all this.

Rosalie sat on the workbench in the garage; Emmett's arms were around her shoulders, and her long legs wrapped around his waist.

"You sure you won't come?" he murmured, kissing her.

"No." She ruffled his hair. "You go have fun. Tell me all about the big ol' bears you bagged when you get back."

"I'll miss my _Momma __Bear_ . . . , " he teased, and she chuckled softly.

"My mighty hunter . . . "

I did an about-face, intending to give them privacy, but Rosalie saw me anyway. She hissed―I won't repeat the accompanying unladylike insult. Emmett gave me an appraising look as I threw my gear into the back of the Jeep, but said nothing while I took my place.

"All right, let's get this show on the road," he announced, leaping into the driver's seat.

Backing out of the garage, he blew the horn―_La __Cucaracha_―at Rosalie with a wink. She waved, and disappeared.

Thankful for the mindless blare of the stereo, I fixed my gaze out the window as the trees whipped by with increasing speed. The gravel met the highway in mere minutes. Emmett drove like the rest of us, his need for speed only strengthened by his desire to test the newly tuned Jeep's off road capabilities.

With each passing mile, the pain of separation from Bella stabbed deeper into my heart. I'd never experienced anything like this before. By the time the cone of Mt. Rainier rose in the moonlit foreground, the intensity of the longing, and the fear for her safety, had settled in my soul as an overwhelming throbbing ache.

I tried to distract myself, but the events of the day just played over and over in my mind, making it worse.

My thoughts kept returning to the conversation with Jasper. It had been characteristically short, and to the point. We understood one another, my battle-scarred brother and I.

"Your fascination with this girl troubles me, but I trust Alice. For some reason, she's confident of a positive outcome."

"I have difficulty believing her, as well. I don't trust myself."

There was double-edged envy under the cynical huff he gave―envy over what he perceived to be my superior control in the face of extreme temptation, and envy over the close relationship I shared with his wife. In neither case was it warranted.

"Just don't take advantage of her fondness for you. She is the most precious thing in the world to me, and I won't stand to see her manipulated."

"She'd never let that happen." I smiled. "But I hear you. And, I won't. I promise you that."

Jasper never made empty threats. Like I said, we understood each other. He could see that I had found something precious, too.

Characteristically, it was Emmett who broke the present silence. "If you're going to mope all weekend, I'll stop this car and you'll be walking home," he threatened.

We must have been on the road for several hours; I hadn't even noticed the music had stopped. He smirked, pleased to have actually startled me.

"Here." He pushed the box on the floor over with his foot. "Make yourself useful, and spin me a new playlist."

Without enthusiasm, I rifled through the CDs-his and mine. "Why didn't you get Rosalie to fit this thing with an MP3 player?"

"I like my music old-school."

"Then, where's your gramophone?" I chipped, immediately annoyed that I'd taken out my bad temper on him. My despair was not his fault.

"Right . . . Well . . . how about Brazilian death metal?"

"Good start."

"Something classic?" I asked, holding up another disc. He approved, giving me the devil-horns.

"Beasties?"

"Uh-_huh_!"

Perusing the rest of the collection assured me that his musical tastes had improved of late. There were no hootenannies or duelling banjos to be found. He had developed an unfortunate predilection for rap in recent years but, all in all, it wasn't too bad. Except for . . .

"What the hell is this?" I demanded.

"What?" He was startled.

I shoved the offending CD in his line of sight. "Air Supply? Seriously, Emmett?"

"Uh, don't know how that got in there. Must be Rosalie's."

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow this sort of musical blasphemy," I told him, tossing it into the back.

"Well, don't play it then," he growled. "Hurry up and put something else on. I'm bored."

"Sabbath, to start," I decided. "Then Beasties."

"Then some Dirty Deeds, perhaps?" he requested.

"Not yet," I contradicted. "Hells Bells."

"Black Dog?"

"Is there any other colour?"

He nodded. "I knew there was a reason I brought you. Play on, Maestro."

* * *

**FRIDAY**

Emmett had enjoyed putting the Jeep through its paces last night. By the time we'd left it at the parking station, the shiny red paint job was coated with a thick layer of mud. Rosalie would take pleasure in pounding out the imprints our heads had made in the roof when we got home―vampires never wear seatbelts. The task appealed to her meticulous nature.

Crossing the preserve on foot, my brother led the way, nose to the wind, sunlight refracting weirdly off the exposed skin of his face and neck. After a full morning's trekking, we had yet to encounter a grizzly, and he was becoming antsy. Though there were plenty of signs on the trails―scratchings and some scat―the aging scents left behind indicated that the area had been vacant for some time.

Tying himself over with elk and deer did nothing for his patience. He longed for the chase and the subsequent sparring match with a worthy opponent. The plentiful goats, for which the nearby geological features were named, were not worth the effort, either, and though wolves abounded, neither of us could stomach their blood. The scent was too reminiscent of the stench that came from the La Push reservation.

I had no appetite; my mind lingered on Bella. She'd be in Trig right now, doubtlessly undergoing a relentless grilling from Jessica about our conversation yesterday. I trusted she'd remain tight-lipped. Would her attention then linger to our table at lunch? And would she miss my presence in class, as I'd missed hers while she was sick last month? Was I even right to wonder if she thought of me that way at all?

Alice hadn't called. I reminded myself why that was a good thing . . .

In the mid-afternoon, we came across a black bear cub turning somersaults in the long grass of a meadow. It paid us no attention. Its twin, perched halfway up the trunk of a spruce like a little monkey, was the one who spotted us. Her warning bleat alerted her brother to our presence, and he scampered up a neighbouring tree.

Emmett was delighted. Where there were cubs, a protective mother lurked somewhere nearby. She was close, too; we could smell her. He gave me a pleading look.

_Just a little warm up? _

One of the cubs gave a plaintive call. There was a rustling in the bushes a quarter of a mile away.

_I__ won__'__t __kill __her_, he promised. _I__'__ll __just __make __her __mad_.

I shook my head.

_I __know, __I __know,_he sighed_.__No __injudicious __hunting__.__.__._

Scaling the ridge and checking out the adjoining valley, he resigned to wait for the next opportunity. I watched him cannonball through the skree on the other side, creating an avalanche in his wake, and pulled out my phone.

"You have no new messages," the automated female voice informed me.

Perhaps there was no signal out here. Impossible. It was the newest phone on the market, and my plan paid for the widest available coverage.

The signal was fine. The phone had to be faulty.

There were no messages because she hadn't called. She hadn't called because there was no reason to.

Bella was perfectly fine. How much trouble could she get into at school, anyway?

I hit the speed dial.

"Hi, this is Alice. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you."

click-

* * *

**SATURDAY**

_I like big butts and I cannot lie . . . You other brothers can't dee-ny . . . _

Curse Sir Mix-a-Lot. Curse him to the deepest pits of Hades.

_. . . itty-bitty waist, and a round thing in your face, you get sprung . . . _

It was times like this I cursed my gift, too. I couldn't tell him he had no future as a rapper when he wasn't even chanting aloud.

_My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, Hon!_

Still no word from Alice. I looked at the dissected phone in my lap. I had pulled the battery out to make sure it was still charged, and now it didn't seem to fit back into place.

"Problem with your phone?"

"No problem. Why?"

He scowled. "Let's get a move on, then."

Another morning of tedious, fruitless trekking. Emmett snacked on what he could find, but became increasingly frustrated by the lack of large omnivores. My preoccupation annoyed him as well. I tried to be discreet, but still caught him glaring at me when I left a message with Alice once.

Bella would be on her way to La Push soon. The group would meet outside the store right about now; Mike would ensure she sat next to him on the drive down. No doubt he'd flaunt his Boy Scout badges once they got to the beach. I took small comfort from the fact that he'd never be able to get her alone. Jessica would see to that.

_That butt you got makes me so horny . . . _

Then, at fifty-five hundred feet above sea level. At last.

The den was covered in a fresh layer of snow. There was only one heartbeat within. Judging by its strength, and the size of the tracks around the entrance, the occupant was a mature male in the final stages of hibernation. He would not appreciate an early wake-up call. Emmett grinned in anticipation.

"I like 'em real thick and juicy," he whispered.

Uprooting a large sapling and stripping it clean, he leaped to the top of the mound. With a move graceful enough to shame an Olympic high-diver, he flipped into a handstand, secured his legs, and hung himself, by the feet, over the entrance to the den.

"Wakey, wakey!" he shouted, gleefully banging the outside layers of brush.

There was a stirring inside, a huffing, and the scratch of vegetation being disturbed.

"Shake that healthy butt!"

He whacked at the mulch surrounding the entrance. A large chunk fell away, and the musty smell of bear poured out, even stronger than before. The huffing became a deep grunting, then a growl. The den vibrated and twigs started to snap inside. Emmett continued to whack away. The growling sustained and became an angry roar of surprise as the sapling came in contact with something soft.

He vaulted straight upwards as the den exploded, revealing two tonnes of grumpy grizzly. No longer playful, Emmett's obsidian eyes pierced with deadly focus as he landed with a grace that belied his muscle-bound bulk. Watching him hunt was a sight to behold. There was nothing in the world he liked better than a grumpy grizzly.

The bear swung its head back and forth, beady eyes blinking painfully in the sudden daylight. It stood up on its hind legs, trying to make sense of what was going on. It didn't like what it smelled any more than it had enjoyed its rude awakening. One more poke in the backside and a whoop from Emmett sent it plunging into the underbrush, ploughing through like a steamroller. The ground quaked.

_And . . . now!_

That was my signal to drop from my post in the tree, head the bear off, and turn him around. Emmett liked his prey to face its demise, straight on.

I wasn't paying attention. I was contemplating ghastly scenarios in which she could have done away with herself at La Push. I prayed to God she wouldn't try boogie boarding. I imagined her flipping off, spinning down a maelstrom like an ant trapped in a draining sink . . . round and round and round . . . vicious green tendrils of seaweed dragging her to the depths . . .

In another, a wayward tree branch, snapping back after being moved by another hiker, whipped backward to hit her in the face. Stunned, she stumbled over a protruding root, and plummeted down an embankment, landing limply on the rocks at the bottom . . .

I clutched the bottle lid that was still in my pocket, debating whether or not to call Alice.

I heard Emmett's command a fraction of a second too late, dropping to the ground in time to watch the bear thunder past, demolishing the brush behind me. He wasn't stopping for anybody.

"What the hell?"

I shrugged, sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Aw, ma-an! What is _with_ you? You were wide open!" He kicked a small boulder into a tree, gouging a hole in its side. "Wide open!" he repeated.

"Sorry," I said, again. "I'll go get him. I'll send him back this way."

"Nah, forget it!"

He took off like a battering ram, peeling down the slope in a wide arc. I followed his path of destruction from my reassumed vantage point on the erratic. The two titans met in a clearing half a mile away. The bear reared on its hind legs, roaring. Emmett followed suit. For several minutes, it was a blur of wrestling flesh and fur. Suddenly, the bear cuffed him, sending him sprawling down a muddy slope. I heard every single swear that came out of his mouth as he bounced to the bottom, gathering moss, lichen, mud, and snow.

He skidded to a stop in the bowl of a cirque, covered in sludge. Expectantly, he watched as, crazed with rage, the bear reared and charged once more.

Emmett smiled . . .

* * *

"Hi, this is Alice. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you."

_-click-_

"Hi, this is Alice . . . "

-_click-_

"Hi, this-"

_-click-_ . . .

_-click-_ . . .

_-click-_ . . .

There was an exasperated growl on the other end when the line finally picked up.

"It's impolite to hang up without leaving a message. It's _really __rude_ to do it, thirty-seven times in a row."

I absolutely had not called thirty-seven times in a row.

"I told you I'd be in touch if anything happened. I haven't called because _nothing__'__s_ happened. Be thankful for that, and goodbye, Edward."

The little imp hung up on me. She let it go to voice-mail three more times before picking up again.

"Look: she's at La Push, and it's sunny out. There's nothing I can do right now. "

I waited. No doubt she saw that I'd just fill up her inbox, so she didn't hang up again.

"Fine. If you must know, yesterday was entirely uneventful. She got to school without crashing the truck, made it through the morning alive, then proceeded to stare mournfully at our table for the entire lunch hour. It drove Rosalie crazy.

"I saw her off to Biology, and watched her help her soccer team lose, six-nil, in gym.

"Then, I followed her home to endure stilted dinner conversation between her and her father. She's on to you, by the way: she was asking him about leisure activities in the Goat Rocks Wilderness.

"She didn't exactly burn up the Friday night social scene after. She did her homework, watched some TV, and went to bed, after which I went home to Jasper. There's nothing more I can tell you right now."

"Will you call me when she gets back from La Push?"

"I'll call _if_, and only _if_, she doesn't get back in one piece," she qualified. "Now, go hunt, and quit bothering me."

* * *

I could sense his return long before I heard the whistling. The ursine testosterone coursing through his veins made him stupidly cheerful, and when he was in a good mood he liked to tease. Without Jasper around to pick up the slack, that augured torment for me.

Which of his inane nicknames would he attempt to bait me with this time? _Spock_, _Neddy-No-Nuts.__.__.__Flanders_? He'd used his latest offering before―sometime in the late Seventies, if I was correct―nevertheless, he was still proud of it. He'd practiced the nuances and inflections all the way back to the campsite. He had it just right.

I hastily stowed the phone, and grabbed the first book at hand.

"There you are, Dead Wood!" he shouted joyously. A rhinoceros couldn't have made more noise had it blundered into the clearing.

"It took you all day to come up with that? Not your best effort."

He ignored me, throwing down the bear carcass he was dragging. He patted the huge, lolling head as he sat on its shoulder.

"New rug for the cave?" I asked, hoping to distract him. "It'll compliment the animal heads on the wall."

He grinned; he was in too good a mood to take offense. "You grab a bite?"

"Not yet."

He sighed contentedly, stood, and paced around the clearing, taking in the view of the volcano. "Glorious day, isn't it?"

"Mh-hm . . . "

"What's that you're reading?"

"Oh, you wouldn't like it," I told him. "Big words, small print. No pictures."

"Not _One __Hundred __Years __of __Solitude _again_, _is it? How'd anybody turn your one-page sex life into a novel, anyway?"

"High brow humour doesn't suit you, Emmett."

"Well, what is it?"

I sighed. "Just some Spanish poetry, if you really must know."

He snorted. "Since when do you read Spanish poetry?"

"Since now."

"Let me see."

"No."

He lumbered over and took it, anyway. He was nimble despite his bulk.

_Christ, __his __Spanish __is __as __good __as __mine._ "Give it back."

"Temper, Neddy." He held it out of my reach. "What's the magic word?"

I couldn't believe it. He jumped onto a nearby boulder, tossing it from hand to hand. "I'm wai-ting . . . " he sing-songed. So childish.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Please."

"Please, what?"

"Please give me my book and I'll consider not ripping your arm off."

"Not nice," he chided.

"Are you going to give it back or do I have to come and get it?" I saw the red haze rising.

"Quiet, I'm reading." I heard him translate the text in his head. One eyebrow quirked up and he smirked. "Well, shit!" He drew the word out until it sounded like _shee-it_.

I prepared to spring at him, but he just tossed the book at me and burst into laughter once more.

"Aw, Neddy, you're so cute when you're mad." He leaped off his perch, giving me a good-natured shove. "We should talk, little brother. First though, we should find you some pussy."

* * *

The hunter opened one eye. Curled up, his long tail twitched under his nose, tickling it, rousing him reluctantly from sleep. He opened the other eye, scanning the area adjacent the den for movement, ears swiveling to catch the sound of potential prey. He was alone.

Stretching languorously in the warm dirt, he had no desire to move from his comfortable confines. For a while, he ignored the faint stirrings of his hunger. He felt no urgency to hunt.

He carefully licked the dirt, as well as the minute morsels of a previous meal from between the pads and claws of first one paw, then the other, front and back. Ever fastidious, he cleaned under his tail for good measure then preened the tawny fur of his torso with the flat of his sandpaper tongue.

An arcing stretch rippled his back muscles, and he was on his feet, kneading the soft earth beneath him like a cub. The stretch ended with a tiny tremor at the end of his long tail, which he flicked back and forth, suddenly alert to a distant sound.

Tasting the scent on the air with an open-mouthed grimace, he felt the stir of hunger once again. The flick of the tail became insistent and whip-like as the instinct to chase kicked in.

The hunter jogged silently, scaling a nearby ridge. Telescopic eyes took in the scene below. The scent of the small herd in the meadow was blown towards him, allowing him the luxury of several moments' observation. With a practiced eye, he chose his prey. He lowered his body until it barely hovered above the earth; it flowed like liquid down the slope of the hill. He was unmatched for speed and grace. The animals below continued to graze peacefully.

The hunter sensed rather than saw his pursuer. There was no noise, only a minute flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. The briefest note of an unfamiliar scent blew on a crosswind, but it did not worry him. At the top of the food chain there was nothing to fear.

He had no reason to fear death; he did not see it coming . . .

* * *

"You want another one?" I asked him.

"Not just yet." His voice was mellow, but his eyes were quicksilver.

"Feeling sloshy?"

"Yep."

We lounged against the boulders with our shirts off, baking like lizards in the late afternoon sun. Emmett popped fist-sized rocks between his forearm and biceps. He was always showing off.

"You know what I miss about Alaska?" he asked, finally breaking the comfortable silence.

"What?"

"Kodiak . . . Liquid ambrosia."

Kodiak blood was like cognac to us. It cost a fortune to ship to Forks, so we only drank it to mark special occasions these days.

"I remember," I sighed. "I miss the midnight sun. And the northern lights. Know what I don't miss, though?"

"What?"

"The mosquitoes."

He didn't understand.

Though our skin was impervious to their bites, it didn't mean the clouds of mutant-sized insects weren't annoying. "They were the size of helicopters," I insisted.

"They never bothered me."

"No. And I never could figure out why."

He shifted onto one elbow. "That's easy. See, I like bears. Bears like honey, and _honey_ is a natural antiseptic. Keeps the mosquitoes away." He underlined his theory with a sweep of his other hand. "You just have to switch your diet. Lay off the stinky carnivores."

I blinked in disbelief. "You know . . . that's quite possibly the stupidest thing you've ever said to me."

I easily dodged the air cushion he sent flying at my head and we both turned to watch it plummet down the mountainside. It exploded against a rocky outcrop with a pop that echoed around the valley.

"Speaking of bears . . . " He pulled back from the edge, turning to give me a sly grin. "You heard from the Denali girls lately?"

I drew back too—instantly wary. "I had a text from Tanya a couple of weeks ago." She'd been in touch several times since I'd returned to Forks actually, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

"She say if they're coming down again this summer?"

Now I knew what was on his mind. "No. But, you know how they are. They'll probably just show up."

"And then you'll ship out." He waggled his eyebrows like a cartoon villain. "You can run, but you can't hide. She'll never give up, you know."_ Why __don__'__t __you __just __give in__?_

"Because I don't want _that_," I growled through clenched teeth. "And you know it."

He was pleased he'd hit a nerve. _Don__'__t __tell __me __you __haven__'__t __imagined __it__.__.__._

"_Enough!__"_ I hissed.

He was quiet for a moment, debating about the best way to approach the subject that was really on his mind. _To __hell __with __it. _As always, he came straight to the point.

"Edward, what's up with you and Bella Swan?"

I sighed, pulling the bottle cap from my pocket and spinning it on its side once more. "I honestly don't know."

"You _said_ you were going to stay away from her," he accused.

"I can't."

"But the thirst? I know what it did to you. I saw it."

And I felt it rise again even as he spoke those words. "It's always there," I admitted, swallowing a surge of venom. "But, I couldn't imagine hurting her now. I couldn't live with myself."

"Shit." He grimaced, turning his head away. _It__'__s __worse __than __I __thought._

His disapproval made me defensive. "She's like no one I've ever met. Have you any idea how tedious it is to know everything about a person before you even speak to them? Do you know how boring most people's thoughts are?"

"Can't say I do," he quipped, rolling his eyes. "So, you like the mystery?"

"That's part of it." There was so much more. "She's intelligent. She reads real books."

"She's a child," he stated flatly.

"Yes, but she's not at all child-like. She's intuitive. Speaking with her is like . . . it's like she's an equal. I've never experienced that with a human."

To be honest, I'd rarely experienced that sort of intellectual equality with anybody. It wasn't something I was prepared to share with him, though.

"So, if you're not afraid anymore that _you__'__re _going to hurt her, then why do you have Alice keeping tabs on her?" _Busted, __little __brother._

The anxiety washed over me afresh. He wasn't entirely correct about my fears, though. I still doubted my restraint, but I was afraid now "Because I have no control over what might occur if I'm not there."

"That's ridiculous," he snorted.

"Don't you ever worry about something bad happening to Rosalie? Something you couldn't fix? If there was a way you could prevent it, wouldn't you?"

He had honestly never considered such a possibility. "Rose is indestructible."

But he could see where I was coming from. What he protected Rosalie from were the demons within. She was a conundrum: shallow yet complicated; vain yet filled with self-loathing. Carlisle had changed her for me, but no one was better suited for her than Emmett.

"Look: I have no problem with her, _per __se_. I don't even really care that she's human. _That's_ not impossible . But, it's just . . . I know you. You always have to make everything into such a big deal. I mean, it's just sex, Bro."

"Not to me."

"You know, you wouldn't be so hung up on her if you'd just gone ahead and banged Tanya in the first place."

_Not __again__.__.__._ "Must you use that term?"

"Hell, I would have," he muttered. Indeed, he had imagined it repeatedly. Despite that fact that he was well and truly mated. She _was_ impossibly alluring. Just . . . not to me.

It had been more or less expected that I would pair off with one of the Denali sisters while we lived with them. But there was a good reason that Tanya and I had never got together and it rested, along with her first car, at the bottom of an icy lake outside of Fairbanks. All of my siblings had their suspicions, but Tanya and I had kept our pact of silence for years. The truth about what really happened on that date was just too embarrassing.

That was the reason I put up with my brothers' mockery of my one and only car accident. It was also why I agreed, every time Tanya visited, to service the Citroën I had purchased as a replacement. She insisted on fair repayment, and I couldn't help but agree.

"Ahem. If I wasn't with Rose, I mean," he clarified. "I'd never cheat on Rose."

"No, because she would find out. And she would gut you. Then chop you into pieces."

"And set them on fire." He laughed. "Don't I know it?" He fidgeted with the stopper on his air mattress."What I said about getting rid of Bella―that night after the accident―you know I didn't mean it, right?"

"You were afraid. We all were." I still was.

"How do you resist snapping her little neck and guzzling down that sweet nectar? It must be gruelling."

I looked away. "You have no idea."

But, he _did_. He'd said as much, moments ago. "It's happened to you." I wasn't asking a question.

His jaw tightened.

"I already talked to Jasper, and he's never experienced anything like this. But you've been on the wagon longer than he has. You must have come across someone―someone who smelled much, _much_ better than anyone else."

"Yeah," he said, after a long moment. "Twice."

"And?"

He laughed, bitterly. "_And,_ you were there to help clean up the mess on one of those occasions, if I recall. We had to move both times." He was quiet for a while. "Why don't you just change her? Save yourself all this angst."

"No."

"Then what's the point? Even if it does work out, and you can . . . She'll get older. She'll discard you. She'll die. No matter what, you end up alone." _And__we__'__ll__have__to__put__up__with__his__misery__.__.__._

"I'm not going to make that decision for her. I won't take away her soul."

He rolled his eyes. "Rosalie made that decision for me. If that means I no longer have a soul, it's a price I'm happy to pay. I get to spend eternity with her. I don't care if there's anything afterwards."

How clearly I remembered the day Rosalie had brought the broken, dying Emmett to our home.

_Please, Carlisle . . . I can't do it. I'm afraid I'll kill him . . . _

"Your human life was already over. Hers is just beginning."

He balanced another small rock on his bicep, concentrating on keeping it still while he formulated his last words on the subject.

"I see that you care for her, and I support that. But you're in way over your head." Crushing it, and wiping the dust away, he fixed his gaze on me once more. "Just, please be careful."

* * *

**SUNDAY**

I was taking photos of steam rising from the volcano when my phone rang. Alice sounded agitated.

"Are you alone?"

"For now." Emmett had just caught another bear, and was draining it in the valley a mile or two away. "Why didn't you call me last night? I left messages."

"I _know_." She was annoyed again. "Relax. The Newton boy brought her back in one piece. You don't have to avenge her death or anything."

I felt anything but relaxed. She'd seen something, I could tell.

"But?"

"She was agitated when she got home last night, and went to bed without getting anything to eat. She just collapsed on the bed with her headphones on. How anyone can manage to fall asleep listening to music at that kind of volume is beyond me. She'll ruin her hearing."

"And?"

"Did you know she that talks in her sleep? What am I saying? Of course you do." The little laugh she added sounded false.

"Spit it out, Alice."

"She had a nightmare; woke up screaming. Scared the heck out of me, by the way. But then she went about her day like nothing had happened . . . just calm as could be.

She spent most of the morning on the computer, and just got back now from a walk in the woods."

"You let her walk in the woods alone?"

Alice ignored my rebuke; she had more important information to relate.

"She's made her choice . . . I think you'd better come home."


	10. In Limbo

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**My thanks to Lezlee for her always thorough beta. Any mistakes are caused by me. I'm always 'tweaking'.**

* * *

**Playlist Picks:  
**Human Behaviour - Björk  
You Wouldn't Like Me - Tegan & Sarah

* * *

**IN LIMBO**

The last minor chords reverberated off the soundboard, making the dust motes dance in the streaming sunlight. I leaned away from the piano to watch them, imagining that they, too, could be moved by this music. The soft, sweet melody Bella had inspired was complete and it was beautiful, just like her. Its poignancy gave voice to my yearning like nothing else.

Satisfied, I switched off the microphone and paused the recording software. I didn't need to save it on disc; I just wanted to have it. On impulse, I lined up a few more tracks, including one I'd once written for Esme, and created a short compilation. As the CD burned, I fancied it might make a suitable gift one day. Bella and I were supposed to be friends now, after all. Perhaps she would like it.

_A fair-weather friend, _I scoffed, watching a gust of wind shake the trees surrounding the house_. She'll not see my face today._

The sunlight refracted off the white walls of the great room, bouncing back against the windows. I frowned at the spectrum radiating off the surface of the CD, onto my freakish skin. A few months ago, I'd have rejoiced at the prospect of staying out of school a day or two longer. Not now.

_So hung up on that chick..._ Emmett had griped.

It had taken outright bribery to get him to leave Goat Rocks before dusk, and he'd loudly expressed his displeasure all the way home. I didn't care. Alice's call had caused my imagination to run amok again. I had controlled my anxiety by watching the digits on the odometer creep forward. I knew I shouldn't have gone away.

By the time we got home however, it seemed her flair for the dramatic had got the better of her. During the intervening hours, decisions had been made, new alternatives had arisen, and Bella's future had cleared again.

"I _did_ see something," she insisted. "When she made up her mind, I got all sorts of variables. Some were distinctly dangerous." She bit her lip, shaking her head in frustration. "But they… passed."

All she could confirm was that Bella's path had been decided, and that I was on it. Like everything else about that girl, the affirmation both thrilled and terrified me.

And I understood why she'd overreacted: she felt guilty about not telling me what had happened at La Push on Saturday. There were a couple of hours when she lost track of Bella completely. She went on a hike in the rainforest with some of the others, but when they regrouped at the beach, she was not among them.

Alice felt like something was blocking her sight – that was the only way she could describe it, and she spent the better part of an hour trying to see past it. Suddenly, as if a curtain had pulled back, Bella stepped out from the shadows to help pack up for the journey back to Forks. The humans appeared not to have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

With chagrin, she admitted that being otherwise occupied with Jasper might have caused her attention to waver. I couldn't begrudge her time with her husband; they had their own lives, and she _was_ doing me a favour. I just wish she'd told me when it happened.

"She was on the other side of the line. There was nothing to do but wait. I trusted the outcome would be favourable, and it was. Besides," - she rolled her eyes - "You'd have only gone off the deep end."

She was right. I would probably have commandeered the Jeep. Emmett wouldn't have spoken to me again for weeks.

But no matter what Alice said, I couldn't shake the apprehension that something malevolent lurked in Bella's future. I reasoned that it was probably because of me. As I slipped through her bedroom window that night though, I wasn't thinking about that. I just needed to see her, to prove to myself she was all right.

Just as before, I was struck by how lovely she was, how peaceful. To me, hers truly was the face an angel. Indeed, she was far above me, in every way. She deserved so much better than the attentions of a pathetic, skulking, _stalking_ freak of nature. I had no right to be here. What did I think I was doing?

As if I needed to ask myself that.

Like an addict anticipating the needle I waited, enduring the red-hot knives rasping at my throat.

Had I really only been gone three days? How much longer it seemed. Breathing in the glorious scent coming off her skin, her hair – the very essence of her– made me feel good, whole… _well_. The anxiety fell away as easily as the curtains had behind me. Just knowing that she existed was all I needed to feel complete.

She must have been very tired. Her breathing came deep and heavy, sometimes drifting into little snores. The talking didn't start until much later, near dawn. All I could make out were a few mumbled entreaties to her mother, and once she said something like, "It's too green." I felt that she still must be very lonely here.

Yes, she was safe, but the other children had returned her home, damaged. She must have taken a couple of falls because her hands were scraped, and one elbow was bandaged. It angered me that her friends had not taken proper care of her, but it was my fault; I should not have left her alone. It would not happen again.

This protectiveness I felt for her, it made me think about what Tanya had said while we'd watched the auroras that night. Perhaps she was right, and the reason Bella still lived proved I could rise above my nature. Perhaps knowing her was making me into a better person. Maybe some day I'd even become a good person.

I left, heartened by that thought, and by the prospect of seeing her again, at school, in a few hours. The short, intense showers that passed through the area further bouyed my mood as I ran home, and I looked forward to the morning.

It was a morning that dawned bright and clear, with a brisk wind to break up the cottony clouds.

"We could have stayed another day," Emmett complained at sunrise.

Alice, irritated that her foresight wasn't cooperating, was also uncharacteristically snippy. "You rely on my sight too much," she pouted.

Our home was the one place where we could truly be ourselves, and we had stocked it with every amusement necessary to help pass the time on a day like this, the vampire equivalent of a snow-day.

Truthfully, ours can be a very boring existence – an endless life of hurry-up-and-wait. You wait for night, or for a change in the weather. You wait for the chance encounter that will bring you your next meal. You wait for companionship too, and some never find it. I had been waiting for Bella for the better part of a century, had I only known it. Well, I knew it now.

Only music held any interest for me that morning, and once I finished composing, there was nothing else I wanted to do. I crashed the ivories irritably, pointlessly, wishing I played a sturdier instrument, one more fit to vent my frustration with. I pounded the keys again, thumping the sustain pedal for good measure. Though I'd only been home for a couple of hours, it already felt like far too long since I'd seen her.

I was alone. The others had gone hunting, far from human eyes. Well, not Emmett and Rosalie: they were reuniting somewhere in the mountains, but the point was that no inquisitive family members would see me leave. As long as I kept out of the sunlight…

Bella's routine was to arrive at school early, and study in the library. If I left now, I might at least be able to catch a glimpse of her. It would make the rest of the day bearable. The very thought lifted my heart, sending wings to my feet.

As I ran, I couldn't help noticing the irony of the situation. Just days before Bella's arrival in Forks, I'd talked to Carlisle about possibly leaving school, and going off on my own again for a while. The daily tedium had become almost unbearable. I certainly never thought I'd find myself hurrying to get to this place on a day I didn't have to be there.

It took me less time than I'd anticipated. There were few cars in the parking lot, and, besides the students arriving early for band practice, the grounds were almost empty.

The faint odour of cigarette smoke and the sound of muffled conversation wafted through the trees, indicating the proximity of Doug Coupland and his friends. Their dulled senses wouldn't have anticipated my approach, but it was expedient to avoid them. I circled the verge of the forest bordering the sports fields, keeping well back so the sunlight would not reflect off my skin.

I climbed into the limbs of a huge cypress. The feathered branches concealed me while still providing an unobstructed view of the seldom-used picnic benches on the south side of the cafeteria. The building housing the library was just beyond. I hoped I'd see her as she went inside.

It wasn't long before I picked up the sound of her truck pulling into the parking lot. I waited a few moments more and, sure enough, she rounded the corner. I was in luck; she must have wanted to take advantage of the fine weather because instead of heading into the building, she made her way right to one of the picnic benches, and threw her jacket onto the damp seat. She pulled her homework out of her bag, and went to work.

She looked so pretty. She was wearing the jeweled clips in her hair again, and her t-shirt had a cartoon of a dinosaur on it. Faint tendrils of her scent wafted towards me on the breeze, making me smile.

She didn't remain intent on her homework for long. After a few moments, appearing lost in thought, she started doodling. Her gaze wandered to the edge of the forest several yards in front of my hiding place. I was frightened, for an instant, that she might see me.

At the same time, I wanted very much to call out to her, but the image in my head of a honey-voiced monster luring a fair maiden to her doom in the woods quickly brought me to my senses.

"Bella," someone else called instead, and I recognized Mike Newton's voice immediately.

"Hey, Mike," she replied, waving at him enthusiastically. He drew near eagerly, in response to her greeting.

"I like your shirt," he said, pointing directly at her breasts as he read what was printed on it."'Thesaurus'. That's funny."

He sat very close to her, grinning like a fool. There seemed to be an easy conviviality between them that hadn't existed before. Jealousy constricted my throat, causing me to wonder what had happened on the beach trip.

He stared at her, drinking in her loveliness just as I always did, mesmerized by the highlights in her hair. A few strands moved in the breeze, and he caught them between his fingers.

"I never noticed before—your hair has red in it," he noted, marveling at its shine and silkiness.

His limited vision could not pick up the lovely highlights of cinnamon, espresso, and chocolate that mine could, but he had been right about one thing the other day: she really was good enough to eat. I saw flavours, not colours.

"Only in the sun," she replied, ducking her head, looking slightly uncomfortable as he tucked the strands behind her ear, proprietarily – something I'd longed to do for weeks.

"Great day, isn't it?" he commented. He wanted to ask her out again, and was fishing for an opening in the conversation.

"My kind of day," she agreed, her eyes darting as if seeking escape, her lips pressing into an impatient smile that asked, _What does he want?_

"What did you do yesterday?" He truly thought it was his business to know. Underneath the possessiveness, he feared that she'd spent the day with me. If only I had been so lucky.

"I mostly worked on my essay," she replied, blandly.

"Oh yeah – that's due Thursday, right?" he exclaimed, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand. _Crap, I totally forgot!_

"Um, Wednesday, I think," she demurred.

"Wednesday?" he grimaced. _I haven't even started yet_. "That's not good…what are you writing yours on?"

"Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters is misogynistic," she replied, chewing the end of her pen, and eyeing him archly. Was she doing that on purpose?

He just stared at her, caught between her allure, and the fact that he had no idea what she'd just said. There was a second or two when his mind went completely blank.

"I guess I'll have to get to work on that tonight," he finally said, deflated. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out."

"Oh," she replied. Why did she seem surprised? His intentions had been so obvious.

"Well, we could go to dinner or something," he pressed. "I could work on it later." His smile was hopeful, pleading.

"Mike…" she interjected, shaking her head. "I don't think that would be the best idea."

His face fell. "Why?" he asked, petulantly. He suspected that Bella and I were already dating.

"I think…and if you ever repeat what I'm saying right now I will cheerfully beat you to death," she threatened, causing me to muffle a snicker, "that it would hurt Jessica's feelings."

"Jessica?" He was bewildered. He'd barely thought about her since Saturday. He'd been holding out hope of winning Bella's favour instead.

"Really, Mike, are you _blind_?" she asked.

"Oh," he sighed, dazed. Clearly, he had missed all of Jessica's very obvious signals. He had also completely forgotten he was going to the dance with her next week.

Taking advantage of his hesitation, Bella sought her escape, gathering up her books and shoving them into her bag. "It's time for class, and I can't be late again," she told him.

He followed her to building three, preoccupied with this new idea of Jessica liking _him. _He'd known her since Kindergarten, and thought of her as a friend, albeit a good one. She'd always been around; his parents knew her parents. But Bella was new, and she was interesting, and smart, and pretty. He supposed Jess was pretty, too. He'd never really considered it before…

I let his thoughts fade away, satisfied that nothing significant had happened between him and Bella on Saturday.

I wanted to make sure that she was safely in the building before I left, so I located Jessica, waiting in Trig, and blissfully anticipating her evening with Mike at the upcoming dance. She imagined slow-dancing with him at the end of the night. As the last song ended, he clasped her hand, and led her to a bench outside the gym where he pulled her close, leaned in, and … and then it was too uncomfortable to be in her head.

I was relieved when her train of thought switched to her wardrobe. I hadn't thought it possible for anyone, besides Alice, to get so enthused about clothing, but I was wrong. She'd decided that tonight she'd make the trip to Port Angeles to buy her dress. Angela and Lauren had already agreed to go with her, and she pounced on Bella as soon as she arrived, insisting that she join them.

As soon as the invitation tumbled out of her mouth, I felt it, that nagging premonition of danger. I had no reason to; Alice had seen nothing untoward when she'd looked into the future this morning. Nevertheless, it was there.

Bella seemed hesitant, but of course I had no idea why. She gave Jess a maybe, adding that she'd have to check with her father first. She didn't have a cell phone, and knowing her, she wouldn't want to bother him at work with something so trivial.

So, I decided to check on her at home, after school. If I needed to trail her to Port Angeles, my intent was not to interfere. I would keep my distance unless she needed my help. With her luck, no doubt she would. Satisfied that she'd be safe for the duration of the school day, I ran home, taking the same dog-legged route I'd come.

When the others returned from the hunt, I grilled Alice, again, to see if anything had changed in Bella's future. All she mustered was a vision of the two of us, seated - in a restaurant, of all places – talking intently. It was unclear if it meant that our date next week would still go ahead despite the weather forecast, or if she was seeing something else. It was very frustrating.

It seemed days, rather than hours, passed while I waited for the school day to end. I sought solace at the piano, but the music I played was not at all my usual preference. The tense, complicated Rachmaninoff concertos required all my concentration, making it impossible to speculate and worry.

From time to time, I caught Esme and Carlisle listening uneasily. At one point, Carlisle stood in the kitchen, debating whether or not to approach me, eventually deciding not to. I knew they suspected the cause of my agitation. I appreciated their concern, but at that moment, felt immensely grateful for their policy of staying out of our private lives unless directly asked for help. I didn't know how to talk to them about this.

By four o'clock, I could no longer stand being in limbo. As I had that morning, I took off for Forks at a run. There was less chance of being seen if I approached from above, so I scaled a sturdy tree and used it as a springboard to travel through the canopy. It didn't take long to reach the forest verge on the north end of town where she lived.

From my vantage point, I could see her truck in the driveway, and I could also tell that she wasn't in the house. Had she gone to Port Angeles with her friends already? I was uneasy as I circled the forested perimeter of the back yard.

Wherever she had gone, it wasn't far, for I caught her scent very quickly. Something caught my attention and I stopped, enraptured by the sight on the lawn below. She slept on a quilt, with the sleeves of her shirt pushed up, exposing the delicate white skin of her arms. Her hair fanned out around her. Truly, she never more resembled a vision of Venus. Time stopped as I watched her sleep. Nothing in the world mattered but her.

She was so beautiful, so small... vulnerable, and defenseless… What if I had come upon her like this on that very first day? What if I had been hunting, governed by instinct, alone? Would I have had the wherewithal to resist the lure of her blood? As I contemplated the answer I knew to be true, I knew that if other, less civilized members of my kind happened upon her like this…

She had been reading a Jane Austen compilation before falling asleep. The book lay open, pages down, on the quilt beside her. I wondered why she hadn't brought the well-thumbed copy of _Wuthering Heights_ as well; she almost always had it with her.

I'd never enjoyed that book. No matter how many times I'd read it, the appeal still eluded me. Quite simply, it was a dreadful melodrama, peopled with horrible characters that treated one another miserably. I failed to see why it should interest a teen-aged American girl in the twenty-first century.

Cathy was a monster that destroyed everyone she loved; Linton was a weakling, physically and morally; and Heathcliff - actually, he cut a little close to the bone for my taste. Nevertheless, as I watched her stir and murmur in her sleep, one of his speeches suddenly held new meaning, reminding me how differently I felt for her now than on the day we'd first met:

_Last night, I was on the threshold of hell. Today, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me._

The sun fell below the trees but she slept on, waking only to the sound of the cruiser's wheels turning onto the brick driveway out front. She sat up with a start, looking around expectantly. Did she somehow know I was nearby?

"Charlie?" she called, as her father walked in the front door, preoccupied as usual. As he divested himself of his boots and gun belt, she jumped up, gathered the quilt and book, and ran inside. I listened carefully.

"Sorry, Dad, dinner's not ready yet," she explained, yawning, "I fell asleep outside."

"Hey, don't worry about it," he replied. "I wanted to catch the score on the game, anyway." _She does too much for me_.

They ate in comfortable silence, and Charlie's thoughts were preoccupied with the Mariners game, which he turned on as she washed the dishes. He watched her for a few moments, smiling to himself, and thinking how much he loved having her stay with him. He had missed caring for her during her childhood, yet here she was, on the cusp of adulthood, doting on him. He felt he didn't deserve his good fortune.

I was as surprised as he was when, instead of going upstairs to do her homework, she reached from behind the couch to hug him tightly around the neck. He switched over to a sitcom and she sat down next to him, snuggling against his shoulder like a much younger child. I was happy to see the bond between them. It was as strong as any that existed in my own family.

The evening was wearing on. Surely if she wanted to go to Port Angeles with her friends tonight, she would ask him soon?

"Dad," she ventured, during a commercial break, "Jessica and Angela are going to look at dresses for the dance tomorrow night in Port Angeles, and they wanted me to help them choose…do you mind if I go with them?"

_Tomorrow night?_ How had I missed that change of plans? Perhaps Jessica had canceled on her? Had Newton seen the light and asked her out tonight, instead?

"Jessica Stanley?" he asked. Of course he knew her parents.

"And Angela Weber," she reiterated, sighing. She gave him the details, but he didn't understand why she was shopping for dresses when she wasn't planning to attend the dance.

"But you're not going to the dance, right?" he asked, just to be sure.

"No, Dad." She sounded impatient. "I'm helping _them _find dresses—you know, giving them constructive criticism."

_I s'pose it's good she's getting out..._ "Well, okay," he assented, still confused, but needing to assert his parental authority. "It's a school night, though."

"We'll leave right after school, so we can get back early. You'll be okay for dinner, right?" she asked.

"Bells, I fed myself for seventeen years before you got here," he reminded her.

"I don't know how you survived," she muttered, and then added more clearly, "I'll leave some things for cold-cut sandwiches in the fridge, okay? Right on top."

He rolled his eyes, and thought something like, _I'm not totally decrepit yet_, before returning his attention to the television.

After I hunted that night, it was much easier to convince myself to return to watch her sleep. The ritual fulfilled a need within me that I hadn't known existed before. I felt like half a being made whole; and the burn of the blood was a small price to pay. I stood sentinel outside her window, guarding her from the unseen dangers of the night.

Before sunrise, I ran home and consulted Alice for a weather update. The forecast was for sun in the morning, followed by increasing cloud and possible showers in the evening. We wouldn't be able to return to school until Wednesday, but at least I'd be able to keep eye on Bella while she was in Port Angeles.

So, I escorted her to school that morning, following the same convoluted route as yesterday. She left late though, barely arriving in time to make it to her first class. I didn't get to see her for very long. I listened, through Jessica's mind, long enough to ascertain that their trip to Port Angeles was indeed back on the menu tonight, and that Lauren wouldn't be joining them. I was glad about that; I hadn't relished hearing her poisonous thoughts for the entire outing.

There was nothing left to do but wait out the remainder of the school day. I went home and got the car, some books, and my MP3 player. Though I couldn't be seen by human eyes today, I had no intention of spending it confined to the house.

In this sheltered grassy clearing, secluded by old growth pine and spruce, life teemed in the palest fronds of minute, feathery ferns just uncurling; in the nubbins of spearmint green fanning from the deciduous hedges; and in the tiny, feathery crocuses poking through the grass.

I liked to think that this was my place. Mine alone. My refuge of complete peace and tranquility, it was completely free of the cacophony of voices that filled my head, every moment of every single day of my existence. I yearned for its teeming silence.

I'd discovered it one summer afternoon shortly after we'd moved back here, when on a whim I drove the highway on our side of the boundary until the road ran out.

I was hunting, bearing down a doe. She was fat from good grazing, and a little lazy, and I was playing with her, wearying her before the kill. I wasn't paying much attention to the terrain but I knew in exactly which direction I was traveling. And, I could tell by the growing light in the forest that there was a clearing up ahead.

I almost had her – I _would have_ - but when her white tail flashed in the sunlight I froze, obeying the predator's instinct to recoil from exposure. I watched her bound through the long grass and ferns to the other side, mesmerized by the first sight of a meadow that would become my favourite place in the Olympic Peninsula: a dazzling field of foxglove, daisies, and fawn lilies.

Throughout the year, I returned regularly. It was always beautiful, but my favourite time was July, when the fireweed and wood lilies were in full bloom. Unbelievably, I had never encountered any hikers here – I'd never even smelled them on the wind.

This was my first inspection of the spring, and it revealed that the small creek on the south side was dammed with winterkill, flooding the low-lying part of the meadow. A little dam-busting was all that was needed to get it flowing again.

Then I headed for the warmest, sunniest spot, where the grass grew tall. I'd brought a journal with me, intending to write an essay for English class tomorrow, but felt lazy, deciding instead to regurgitate one of the papers I'd written decades ago. I was able to relax to the music on my iPod, but what I really wanted was to be able to sleep in the warm sunshine the way Bella had yesterday. What luxury that would have been.

Thankfully, the afternoon passed more pleasantly and quickly than it had the day before. Sooner than I realized, it was time to return to Forks to follow Bella and her friends to Port Angeles. It would be difficult, but not impossible to do so without being seen, but since I knew where they were going, I could keep a reasonable distance between us.

Assuming that the general outline of their plan had not changed since this morning, I knew Jessica would follow Bella home so she could leave her truck and school books behind. Angela lived in the north end of town, just off the highway, and they would pick her up on the way out to Port Angeles.

I waited, in an alley around the corner from Angela's, listening for the sound of Jessica's old white Mercury.

Her thoughts were loud and giddy as she approached. I didn't pay attention to them, concentrating instead on the interval between the moment she tapped the horn, and the instant the rear passenger door slammed shut, indicating that Angela had taken her seat.

I gave them several minutes' head start so they could merge safely onto the interstate. Then I pulled out of the alley, and made my own way to Port Angeles.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for waiting on this chapter. I actually took a little _Twilight_ side-trip last month, and wrote a one-shot for Project Team Beta's "Life and Times of Bree Tanner" challenge. It's entitled **"A Carton of Milk"**, and I'm absolutely delighted to announce that it **won the "READERS' CHOICE" award! Thanks to everone who voted! **This was the first time I've entered a fanfiction writing challenge, and Iit was great to receive such encouragement.

Bree was fun to write about but I'm back with Edward now. Here's my take on what happened after he and Emmett returned from the Goat Rocks Wilderness.


	11. Deliverance

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from **_**Twilight**_** is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration**.

**Thanks, as always, to Lezlee. She's more than my beta; she is my good friend. **

I'd also like to acknowledge the inspiration and encouragement that I've received from both Miaokuancha and Marliarna of late. If you haven't read Miaokuancha's ethereal take on _Twilight_, entitled "A Garment of Brightness", DO. It's gob-smackingly good. Marliarna's "Confession" is a haunting one-shot. Her short stories deserve more reviews, folks: read them!

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

Keep the Car Running - Arcade Fire  
Ugly Side - Blue October

* * *

**DELIVERANCE**

I was four, maybe five. Mother took me to the circus. We stood in a line for a long time. We walked in the hot sun. I could see the big top tent, striped red and white, like candy. I knew my colours. Red and white stripes meant peppermint.

_Mother carried a parasol and she held my hand. She smiled at me. I loved her eyes. My eyes in her face. We stood in another line for a very long time. I was hot, and I was tired. "How much longer?" I asked? "Not long now," she said. I saw three elephants walk past, holding each other's tails with their trunks. An elephant's nose was called a trunk; I knew that. I thought that was a funny word. I was getting good at reading words. Father said I was clever. I saw a sign and I read that word too._

_It was a very big cat, curled up, asleep in the shade, like my cat, Treacle. I wasn't afraid. I wanted to pet the big cat. I reached my small hand through the bars to catch the tuft of fur on the end of his tail that twitched back and forth, back and forth . . . _

_"There you are!"_

_I was swept up in a rustle of muslin and whalebone. Mother smelled like flowers. She pressed kisses into my face, into my hair, and carried me away. I didn't want to leave; I wanted to pet the big cat. Why couldn't I? She held me close, and the whalebone was hard. It dug into my chest._

_"You must never, ever make me worry so," she said. She held my hand so tight it hurt._

_Then she gave me a lollipop. It was peppermint._

* * *

Their familiar 'voices' made it easy to track them to Port Angeles. I stayed about half a mile back, listening, and driving much closer to the speed limit than tolerable. Whenever the traffic flow brought me within sight of the white car, I pulled onto the shoulder so they could get ahead of me.

I'd been parked for several minutes at a point of interest along the shore of Lake Crescent, relieved to let Jessica's thoughts recede into the mist. There was no ebb to that unceasing tide, nor was there any great depth. Her voracity for gossip was astounding, exhausting. No scandal at Forks High escaped her doggedly one-track mind. She wasn't gossiping at the moment, though.

"Oh, my God"—she typically punctuated her statements with invocations to God—"don't you just love this song?"

In my mind, her hand flashed to the stereo, and I braced myself for excessive volume. The experience of listening to music through the minds of others always came with the briefest delay, something to do with mental processing time, I could only guess. It was an odd sensation, but one I'd become used to.

The original was better, I decided after listening for a few bars. These girls would never have heard it, of course. It shocked me a little to realize that the song was probably first recorded the very year they were born.

They were familiar with the insipid cover version however, and their thin voices rose off key as they sang along. And I had to smile: Bella―as much as I loved her―could not hold a tune, either.

They began moving out of range so I pulled back onto the highway. When I could hear them clearly again, the sing-along had ceased and they were discussing the apparent 'hotness' of the singer compared with other celebrities they knew of. Judging by the fervour of their exclamations, some English actor in a horror franchise was flavour of the month these days.

"I would so totally do him"—Jessica, of course—"I would!" she affirmed, widening her eyes at he r friends' embarrassed giggles.

The conversation degenerated, making me uncomfortable and a little impatient. I already knew which members of the student body were 'totally doing it'. Those who truly were sexually active numbered far less than those who were alleged to be.

"Have _you_ ever . . . ?" Jessica raised an eyebrow at Bella.

"No, no." Her face reddened and her gaze dropped to her hands. "I've never even had a boyfriend."

"If you could pick any boy in school to do it with and, _guaranteed_, he'd say yes, who would it be?"

_Give it a rest, Jess_. Angela's annoyance drifted from the back seat.

Bella just shook her head and continued gazing at her hands. Jessica's sidelong glance showed her playing nervously with the silver ring on her left hand. Her fingers were white and pinched. They looked cold.

My friends and I would never have spoken so boldly when we were seventeen. I suppose we were very sheltered back then; we never had any opportunities to socialize with the fair sex unchaperoned. And had they existed, I doubt I'd have taken advantage of them. What I'd wanted most at that age was to fight in the Great War. It was all I thought about.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had Bella been alive back then, and I'd met her before I was changed . . .

The talk returned to the boys in their circle of friends. Jessica was pleased to report how well her date with Mike had gone last night. The creative visualization techniques she'd initiated yesterday appeared to be working, for she had no doubt they'd reach the first-kiss stage after the dance.

_Moving it on to the next level_. Angela chuckled, turning away to hide a smile. She'd heard that prediction before.

Her thoughts were uncharacteristically voluble this evening. I preferred listening through her mind when I could; there was none of the flotsam to sift through. Also, she was quite perceptive. Unfortunately, she didn't share as many classes with Bella as Jessica did.

I wondered why her self-esteem was not better. She had only said yes to Eric's invitation to the dance because he was popular, and because she felt it the socially acceptable choice to make. If she really liked Ben Cheney, why did it matter whether or not Jessica and Lauren approved of him? I just really did not understand young women.

Even now, she was trying to hide her preference from Jessica, despite relentless cross-examination. Bella must have sensed her anxiety because she interrupted with a well-timed question about clothing stores.

"No, not in Port Angeles," Jessica babbled. "The nearest one's in the outlet mall in Olympia . . . " And she was off to the races again.

Angela's gratitude and her growing kinship with Bella made me happy. What she lacked in self-confidence, she made up for with her loyalty to her friends, and she held some insightful opinions about the other students at school, as well.

For example, when Jessica had been questioning Bella, I was surprised to see myself in Angela's thoughts. She didn't often think of me. Like the other children, she too, shrunk from the members of my family. But it wasn't just my unnaturalness that caused the mild waves of disapproval I felt from her. She truly felt that her quiet, intense new friend deserved someone who was more her equal. She wasn't sure who that might be, but in her eyes, I just didn't measure up. I couldn't help but agree.

Another thing I liked about Angela was that she shunned gossip. Bella had revealed nothing about the intense conversation we'd shared in the cafeteria last week, not even to her. She continued to be intrigued by it but she sensed her desire for privacy, and refrained from prying.

_She's not intimidated by him like everybody else is though_, she mused.

And there, without knowing it, she'd pointed out just what troubled me most about Bella. Her reactions to me were so . . . wrong.

They had just passed Port Angeles city limits, a tidy, touristy, burg that makes the most of its lovely setting, nestled between the Cascades and the Strait. Tourists parted with their dollars at the over-priced boutiques along the boardwalk, but the girls knew better than to shop there, heading instead to a formal wear shop downtown.

I parked a few streets away, tracking their movements through Angela's thoughts. Listening through a more perceptive mind than either Jessica's or Mike's was refreshing. Yet she was as surprised as I was to learn that Bella did not go out much back in Phoenix. She'd never been to a school dance.

"No one asked me," she admitted, when Jessica demanded to know why not. Her answer seemed honest, but surely she couldn't have lacked for admirers?

Jessica was dubious. "People ask you out here," she reminded her. "And you tell them no." She speculated that Bella believed herself too good for the boys in Forks.

_She _is_ too good for them_, I agreed.

By then, they'd reached their destination and begun perusing racks of dresses. Angela's vision was trained firmly on the merchandise so her expression wouldn't give away her thoughts. She knew Jessica was dying to find out the truth behind a piece of gossip that was circulating.

"Well, except for Tyler," she amended quietly, gazing in the mirror at her reflection holding a dress up against itself.

Bella's head whipped around. "What did you say?" she gasped.

"Tyler told everyone he's taking you to prom." Jessica smirked. _Like you didn't know._

I smirked too, remembering his resolution after he'd asked her to the spring dance. Clearly, the boy was quite deluded.

Bella seemed to agree. "He said what?" she choked.

"I told you it wasn't true," Angela murmured, pleased that this rumour at least had been put to rest.

But Bella was still annoyed. "Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he'd stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it even?"

_Not likely_, I conjectured, for Tyler had convinced himself of Bella's acquiescence. In fact, he'd already picked out the corsage he wanted to buy her.

They became engrossed in their search, and I'd endured too many shopping expeditions with my sister to have much tolerance for talk of fabric swatches, or accessorizing. I was listening to music and my attention wavered.

The clouds encroached over the disc of the sun, cocooning it as it settled into the horizon. I'd be able to move about more freely soon. Good. Boredom and inactivity made me broody. I hated my tendency towards melancholy but couldn't help it when I was by myself.

I pulled Bella's bottle cap from my pocket, and balanced it, side on, atop the steering wheel. I feared I'd left it at Goat Rocks, but it had turned up in a side pocket of my bag when I unpacked. Gravity pulled it down the slope of the wheel, imperceptibly slowly at first, but with increasing velocity. I caught it just as it hit the air, and balanced it at the top again. I did this, over and over; it didn't alleviate the boredom.

I wished I'd brought a book. I began to wonder if coming here had been a mistake. Certainly, I felt no inkling of danger now.

_Of course not_, my snide inner voice informed me. _There never was any danger. There is only your obsession._

You're wrong.

_Your Messiah complex stems from guilt over your desire to kill her_.

You don't know me.

_You still covet her blood. Admit it._

I'm not a monster.

_Then why do you pursue this folly?_

Why indeed? Emmett was right: no good would come of it. I was headed for misery. And Rosalie was right, too: my recklessness endangered the entire family.

What _was_ I doing here? I'd convinced myself that I loved this human girl, yet I barely knew her. I could count the number of times I'd spoken to her, on one hand. Was this neurosis―some kind of erotomaniac delusion brought on by loneliness and an overactive imagination? The answer surely existed in any number of medical textbooks at home.

I didn't need textbooks to tell me I was mad. I'd read too many books; that was my problem. Everything I knew about life came from books. Despite my great age, I'd never truly lived. Books were all I really knew.

_Bella must have lost herself in a good book.__ She's sure been gone a while._

Angela's thought hadn't come from the dress shop.

"Should we give her a little longer?" she asked Jessica.

"I'm getting kind of hungry," Jess complained, shivering. She'd caught a chill walking along the foreshore. When had they had time to do that?

"Me, too," she agreed, glancing nervously at her watch. I did the same, shocked to realize that nearly an hour had passed since I'd stopped keeping track of them.

They were waiting on East First Street, outside the restaurant I'd seen in their thoughts before. Bella should have met them there some time ago.

Where had she gone? How had I not noticed she'd taken off on her own?

"Give her a call―see what's up."

"She doesn't have a phone."

There was a clear image in Angela's thoughts of the three of them standing outside the clothing shop, and Jessica pointing out a new age bookstore down the street.

A heavy weight dropped into the pit of my stomach. I threw the car into gear and took off.

I found the place easily enough. With the windows rolled down, I was able to catch her scent, albeit faintly. Yes, it lingered there.

Bella was not inside the shop, but she was in the proprietress's thoughts. She remembered a pretty, dark haired girl pausing at the window, pressing her hands against the glass of the shop front before moving on in a southerly direction.

I drove slowly, keeping the windows open, tasting her fading scent on the wind. I began listening to the thoughts of passersby, searching for any sign, any clue to her whereabouts. Nothing. The scent paled to nothing, too.

I reasoned that I was probably overreacting. No doubt she'd doubled back and met up with her friends by now. I searched, accessing Angela's thoughts in time to watch them enter the restaurant. They were only two.

I knew the street grids came to halt at the southern end of the harbour. She'd have to turn around and come back soon. The sun had set; it would be more efficient to track her on foot now that I could leave the vehicle without attracting attention.

I searched the mind of every human I passed, but no one had seen her. The frustration and worry were nigh intolerable when suddenly, from the warehouse district a couple of blocks away, I heard his thoughts.

Sickened, I watched through his eyes as she walked by. He admired her shape, her prettiness. He sized her up, considered how much of a fight she'd give. Grinning, he nudged his companion.

The other startled her with a catcall, causing her steps to hasten, and they laughed as she tripped over uneven pavement. Two more pulled themselves off the wall and, with no sense of urgency, began to follow her. The leader signalled to the cat-caller, and he slouched off in the opposite direction.

He watched calmly as she hurried down the deserted street. There was no urgency; his compatriots were already herding her towards him. I felt the way his insides quickened with anticipation. He licked his lips, knowing he'd have all night to savour the experience.

* * *

_It was my father's memory, not mine._

_He'd left work late that night, contemplating human frailty. A woman had died in his care, and all he could do was offer comfort as she passed on._

_His sharp ears had heard what no one else could: vibrations of distress issuing from a struggle. A disturbance in that part of town, at that late hour, was unusual._

_At first, he was merely curious. Then the scent of human blood almost eradicated two hundred years of discipline and dedication, leaving him, if only for a moment, a creature of instinct once more._

_The girl's body lay broken and violated, sprawled in the gutter. Seeping blood stained her skin, her clothes, her golden hair. Her life drained from her much as the blood flowed that into the sewer below._

_When he examined her, he saw that she was beautiful. Like the woman in the hospital, she was not long for this world._

_He'd acted out of pity._

_Afterwards, when she found out what she'd become, she cursed him._

* * *

I recognized the street by a sign on one of the boarded up shops visible from his point of view. It was the only sign on a row of blank, windowless, doorless walls. He waited there for his pawns to bring his prize to him.

It had been empty when I'd passed through it a few minutes ago. It wasn't far.

"Stay away from me," she told him, in a soft voice. Too soft. Why didn't she scream? Oddly, her expression was not fearful. Rather, her brow was furrowed, like she was trying very hard to remember something.

"Don't be like that, sugar," the predator purred. Words I'd heard before.

* * *

_"Don't be that way, toots . . . "_

_The alleyway reeks of garbage and urine. She is afraid. There's no way out. Dirty men surround her, harassing her like jackals. Too many of them. The nearest clasps her chin in his hand. His nails are long. Filthy._

_Look at me when I'm talkin' to you._

_She will not look. Not her fault. She did nothing wrong but she knows she will die anyway. Painfully. She just wants it over with._

_The blur beneath the gaslight is a momentary distraction. Her captor scoffs at the slight, silent young man who suddenly appears there._

_Past your bedtime, isn't it, kid?_

_He has the face of a seraph. Under the gaslight, his eyes are hellfire._

_The predator hears a soft pop. He does not realize his neck is broken. His feet below him dangle comically in the air. He tries to laugh but no sound comes._

_Do his compatriots see this bizarre sight, he wonders. No. They see nothing; their faces are death masks of terror. He sees the same death mask reflected in the eyes of the boy who holds him aloft. His murderer._

_The woman remains frozen._

_"Run," the demon with the angel's face tells her. She wants to reach out and touch that face, but she cannot._

_"Run," he tells her again._

_In the blink of an eye, he's gone._

_She remembers that beautiful, terrible face until her dying day._

* * *

The passenger door slammed shut and she was there. Someone was speaking but it was hard to hear above the noise. So much growling and screaming. I wanted the noise to stop; then I realized it was inside of me.

"Put your seatbelt on." The rough voice sounded like mine.

_Let me out! _The monster begged_. Let me do it!_

I kept a firm grip on the wheel. If I let go, he'd kill them all, right in front of her. Unthinkable.

_But I want them!_

The car fish-tailed and flew forward, plowing through the men―the creatures that posed as men―scattering them on both sides of the street.

I could hear her breathing heavily, gasping. We both were. The scent of her blood, propelled by adrenaline, filled the car, filled my head. It was burning me. _Christ, not now!_ I was a disgusting, vile wretch!

If I jumped out, I'd kill them. If I stayed where I was, God help me . . . _No, control it. Focus__._ Somehow, I remained where I was. Still, the screaming wouldn't stop. I had to get away from it, get her away from it. I didn't know where to go, only to move forwards; away.

She was safe. I'd keep her safe.

"Are you okay?" Her voice in the darkness, so tiny, so soft. She'd been the one in danger and she was concerned about my safety?

"No." How did she extricate these words of truth from me?

I hit the brakes. The street we'd travelled on had become a dirt road that verged on the forest.

"Bella?" I concentrated on taking one breath at a time, in and out.

He had not had time to hurt her; I knew that, but I wanted her reassurance. I wanted to keep her talking, to drown out the screaming. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she replied softly.

"Then distract me, please," I ordered.

"I'm sorry―what?"

"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down." I squeezed my eyes closed, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.

"Um . . . you really should be wearing your seat belt," she advised, a chastisement so ridiculous, delivered so ineffectually, that I heard myself laugh. I sounded hysterical.

"Go on."

She had to think about it. "I'm going to have to run over Tyler Crowley tomorrow before school," she finally announced, her inflection making it sound like a question.

My eyes still closed, I smiled slightly, remembering her threat on his life in the dress store. "Why?"

"He's telling everyone that he's taking me to prom—either he's insane or he's still trying to make up for almost killing me last . . . well, you remember it, and he thinks prom is somehow the correct way to do this. So I figure if I endanger his life, then we're even . . . " The terrible noise in my head lessened as she babbled on. I could feel my sanity returning.

"I heard about that," I acknowledged.

"You did?" she asked in disbelief, then, continuing her train of thought, added, "If he's paralyzed from the neck down, he won't be able to go to prom, either."

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.

"Better?" she asked.

"Not really."

"What's wrong?" she whispered. For the first time, she sounded frightened.

"Sometimes I have a problem with my temper, Bella." I whispered too, training my gaze out the window. _Breathe, just breathe . . ._ "But it wouldn't be helpful for me to turn around and hunt down those . . . " Just talking about it brought the anger back to boil. "At least, that's what I'm trying to convince myself."

"Oh," she said quietly.

I turned to look at her. Her eyes were downcast once more, and she played nervously with the ring on her left hand. I felt the need to do something constructive, something helpful.

"Shall I take you to the police station?"

"What?"

"Do you want to report those men to the police?" I clarified. Focusing on a practical solution kept me from turning the vehicle around and running them to the ground.

It took her a long time to answer. What could there be to consider? The bastards had to pay for what they meant to do to her.

"No," she finally said. "My dad would have to find out. I don't want him to. He worries too much about me."

She had to be in shock; she didn't comprehend what would have happened to her if I hadn't got there in time.

"Can I take you home?"

She shook her head. She was trembling and I smelled her unshed tears.

"What would you like to do, then?" I asked gently, letting her think about her answer. I had no intention of letting her out of my sight until she was safely home.

Again, she put the concerns of others before herself. "Jessica and Angela will be worried. I was supposed to meet them."

Jessica and Angela―those brutes might be looking for fresh victims. Swallowing the resurfacing rage, I started the engine, turned around, and sped back towards town. We weren't far out, and made the distance quickly. I easily located Angela's thoughts, relieved to discern that she and Jessica were unharmed. They were paying for their meals at the restaurant.

I parked outside in time to see them exit. They were wondering what to do next―continue to wait, go looking for her, or phone Bella's father? They hurried away from us, towards Jessica's Mercury.

"How did you know where . . . ?" Bella started, but then just shook her head. "What are you doing?" she asked, as I got out and opened the passenger door.

"I'm taking you to dinner," I informed her, smiling thinly, wryly cognizant of Alice's prediction the other night.

"Go stop Jessica and Angela before I have to track them down, too. I don't think I could restrain myself if I ran into your other friends again."

The marked relief on their faces quickly turned to surprise as they responded to her hail. Jessica immediately assumed Bella had left them because she'd arranged to meet me.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her gaze flickering between us.

"I got lost," Bella admitted, embarrassed, gesturing towards me, "and then I ran into Edward." I waited a beat but thankfully she didn't elaborate.

"Would it be all right if I joined you?" I asked. It was a simple question, but I must have overdone the charm again. I winced as Jessica's thoughts became downright indecent.

"Er . . . sure," she simpered.

Angela was quicker, sensing we wanted privacy. "Um, actually, Bella, we already ate while we were waiting―sorry," she confessed.

"That's fine―I'm not hungry," she replied, pulling her purse up over her shoulder. She intended to go with them. That was unacceptable. If she was going to go into shock, it best happen around me. These girls were not equipped to deal with a medical emergency.

"I think you should eat something," I contradicted softly. "Do you mind if I drive Bella home tonight?" I asked Jessica. "That way you won't have to wait while she eats."

"Uh, no problem, I guess . . . " I wished there was some kind of shield I could put up to stop her infernal mental bombardment.

"Okay," said Angela, ushering her goggle-eyed friend towards the car. "See you tomorrow, Bella . . . Edward." As they got in, Jessica turned and waved, her face eagerly curious. I did not envy Bella the third degree that awaited her later on.

She waved back, waiting until they were out of sight before turning to face me. "Honestly, I'm not hungry," she insisted.

"Humour me." I led her up the steps into the restaurant.

The hostess showed us to a table in the middle of the floor, directly beside the entrance to the kitchen. It was entirely inappropriate.

"Perhaps something more private?" I insisted quietly, quickly handing her a tip.

Surprised, she pocketed it, acquiescing and immediately leading us over to a secluded alcove behind a lattice-work partition.

"Is this more to your liking?" she asked.

"Perfect." I gave her a brief smile.

Bella gave me a disapproving little glare as the hostess walked away. "You really shouldn't do that to people," she criticized. "It's hardly fair."

"Do what?" I asked, perplexed. What rule of etiquette had I breached?

"Dazzle them like that―she's probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."

I didn't dazzle anyone. Vampirism made me compelling, as it did all of us. It was a method of luring prey, little more.

"Oh, come on." She rolled her eyes. "You have to know the effect you have on people. Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"

I hadn't thought about it that way before. "Do I dazzle you?" I asked, instantly curious. That she might be as affected by my presence as I was by hers!

"Frequently," she admitted.

The waitress arrived then, and it was obvious she had not been schooled in correct serving protocol. She did not take the lady's order first. I had to prompt Bella.

"I'll have a Coke," she decided, her statement rising like a question once more. The waitress did not acknowledge her; she turned instantly to me.

"Two Cokes," I added, watching Bella closely. She was still much too calm.

"What?" she asked.

"How are you feeling?" Yes, she was unnaturally calm, given what had almost happened. Perhaps it had not hit her yet.

"I'm fine," she replied.

"You don't feel dizzy, sick, cold . . . ?"

"Should I?" she asked, puzzled.

"Well, I'm actually waiting for you to go into shock," I told her, smiling.

"I don't think that will happen," she said. "I've always been very good at repressing unpleasant things."

_And unpleasant incidents, like that first biology class, and the car accident . . . _"Just the same, I'll feel better when you have some sugar and food in you," I said.

The waitress appeared, bearing our drinks and a basket of breadsticks.

"Are you ready to order?" she asked, gazing only at me. I was becoming impatient with this waitress. It was supposed to be _ladies__ first!_

"Bella?" I prompted, firmly.

She looked at the menu for the first time, and seemed to pick the first item that she saw.

"And you?" The waitress turned to me.

Damn Alice and her predictions! How would I extricate myself from this? Should I feign celiac disease or some other gastrointestinal affliction? No, that was so transparent.

"Nothing for me," I replied.

The waitress considered stating the five-dollar minimum charge per diner, but one look at my expression caused her to think the better of it.

"Let me know if you change your mind," she purred as she departed.

"You're not going to have anything?" Bella's gaze was shrewd. What _was_ she thinking?

"Um, no. I'm on a special diet," I hedged, pointing to her glass, hoping to distract her and get necessary fluids into her system.

"Thanks," she muttered, gulping through the straw, and then shivering.

That was it: one of the first signs of the body going into shock. The blood leaves the extremities to protect the heart. "Are you cold?" I asked immediately.

"It's just the Coke," she explained, shivering again.

"Don't you have a jacket?" It was silly to go without one in this climate. She'd risk catching her death as cold as it was tonight. It was imperative she kept warm.

"Oh―I must have left it in Jessica's car," she admitted, glancing down at the bench.

I took off my jacket and handed it to her. It would keep her body heat contained, even if it did not warm her right away. She gazed appraisingly at my torso as I did so. I wondered why; my shirt was very ordinary. Did she find me attractive? The possibility gave me a surge of pleasure.

"Thanks," she said, sliding her arms into the jacket. The sleeves were far too long, so she rolled them back, revealing her slim white wrists. So tiny, I could encircle them with just my thumbs and forefingers. I could discern the delicate veins under the skin. Blue―just like―my gaze travelled towards her face, and I noticed the collar of her blouse protruding from beneath my jacket.

"That color looks lovely with your skin," I found myself blurting. What an inappropriate thing to say! Flushing, she looked down again; the scent of her rising blood no longer burned me as it had in the car. It warmed me.

I pushed the bread basket towards her hoping food would erase the memory of my gaffe.

"Really, I'm not going into shock," she assured me.

"You should be," I informed her. "A normal person would be. You barely look ashen."

"I _always_ look ashen," she corrected. "Just call me Casper." She smiled at her wan joke, then sat silently for a moment.

"I feel very safe with you," she finally admitted, proving, to my mind, once and for all, just how abnormal she really was.

She picked up a breadstick and nibbled at it. "Usually you're in a better mood when your eyes are so light," she commented.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're always crabbier when your eyes are black―I expect it then," she elaborated. "I have a theory about that." _Yes, of course she did . . . _

"More theories?" I tapped my finger on the table and looked away.

"Mm-hm," she said, still chewing.

"I hope you were more creative this time . . . or are you still stealing from comic books?' I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes.

"Well, no, I didn't get it from a comic book, but I didn't come up with it on my own, either," she confessed.

"And?" I prodded, afraid of what she had figured out. What had she discovered while she was working so diligently on the computer on Sunday morning?

The waitress brought Bella's food. "Did you change your mind?" she asked me. "Isn't there anything I can get you?"

I wanted her to get back to her duties as soon as possible. She had no business eavesdropping on our conversation as she had been.

"No, thank you, but some more soda would be nice." I gestured to the empty cups in front of Bella, dismissing her.

"You were saying?" I prompted, when the waitress was out of earshot.

"I'll tell you about it in the car. If . . . " she paused.

"There are conditions?" Always, she demanded what I could not give her.

"I do have a few questions, of course."

"Of course." I steeled myself.

The waitress deposited more beverages. I waited until she'd returned to the kitchen before nodding at Bella.

"Well, go ahead."

She didn't miss a beat. "Why are you in Port Angeles?"

"Next." I looked away.

"But that's the easiest one," she objected.

"Next."

Slowly, deliberately, she speared a couple of squares of pasta, placing them in her mouth, chewing thoroughly. She took a drink of soda, swallowed, and folded her hands together under her chin.

"How did you know where I was?" How could I answer that without appearing insane? "You can trust me, you know," she murmured.

She reached one hand forward to touch mine, which were folded similarly to the way hers had been. I pulled back instinctively; my frigid skin could only repulse her.

"I don't know if I have a choice anymore." I sighed, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I was wrong―you're much more observant that I gave you credit for."

"I thought you were always right," she demurred.

"I used to be." I shook my head. "I was wrong about you on something else, as well. You're not a magnet for accidents―that's not a broad enough classification. You are a magnet for trouble. If there is anything dangerous within a ten-mile radius, it will invariably find you."

"And you put yourself into that category?" she asked.

_Clever girl._"Unequivocally."

She stretched her hand across the table again, ignoring my recoil. Her fingertips were pink now, scorching me as they had that day in biology.

"Thank you," her voice was fervent. "That's twice now."

I looked down at her hand upon mine. I could feel her blood pulse through the thumb, the sensation should have disturbed me, yet the warmth felt . . . comforting.

"Let's not try for three, agreed?" She pressed her lips together, but didn't remove her hand. "I feel . . . very protective of you," I heard myself admit, daring to look into her eyes now.

"So you did follow me?" I wondered why she was smiling.

"I was trying to keep a distance unless you needed my help. It's much more troublesome than I'd anticipated. But that's probably just because it's you. Ordinary people seem to make it through the day without so many catastrophes." I stopped, anxious that I'd insulted her again.

But she hadn't taken offense. "Did you ever think that maybe my number was up the first time, with the van," she speculated, "and that you've been interfering with fate ever since?" Her hand pressed into mine now; an intimacy I was unworthy of.

I found it hard to form the words. "That wasn't the first time," My voice cracked. "You number was up the first time I met you."

I heard her sharp intake of breath. 'You remember?" I whispered.

"Yes . . . " She exhaled audibly, undoubtedly, recollecting that awful first day―my inhuman black glare. Thank God that was all she knew.

"And yet here you sit." I couldn't disguise my astonishment.

"Yes, here I sit . . . because of you," she prompted. "Because somehow you knew how to find me today . . . ?"

Compelled to honesty yet again, I took the chance.

"It's harder than it should be . . . " I paused, watching her response, "keeping track of you. Usually I can find someone very easily, once I've heard their thoughts before."

Her mouth fell open. "You can hear what people are thinking?"

"I can hear every mind in this room"-I indicated the sparsely spaced diners around us-"apart from one."

She gulped, stabbing more squares of pasta, throwing them rapidly into her mouth, and swallowing audibly.

"You can't hear me?" she finally whispered.

"No. And I don't know why. It's _very_ frustrating."

I expected her to throw down her fork, curse me as a lunatic, and run out into the night. Instead, she just gazed at me expectantly. I began to babble.

"I was keeping tabs on Jessica, not carefully―like I said, only you could find trouble in Port Angeles―and at first I didn't notice when you took off on your own"-I told her all of it―how I'd gone looking for her at the bookstore, randomly searching the thoughts of people on the streets -"I had no reason to be worried . . . but I was strangely anxious . . .

"I started to drive in circles, still . . . listening. The sun was finally setting, and I was about to get out and follow you on foot. And then . . . " It was all I could do to swallow the violent rage that arose once more.

"Then what?" she was still whispering.

"I heard what they were thinking . . . I saw your face in his mind." I hid my face in my hands, furious yet ashamed. I didn't want her to see the murder in my eyes.

"It was very . . . hard," I continued, head still in my hands. "You can't imagine how hard, for me to simply take you away, and leave them . . . alive. I could have let you go with Jessica and Angela, but I was afraid if you left me alone, I would go looking for them." And I did not trust that I wouldn't do just that once I was alone.

We sat in silence for some time, both absorbing the evening's events and subsequent revelations. She knew more about me now than anyone outside the family had learned in an entire century. There was only one rule left unbroken now. Could I risk her learning the whole truth? She couldn't know . . . yet she had to know . . .

I had so very nearly bared my soul, yet she remained an enigma to me. There was still the drive back to Forks; and she hadn't revealed her latest theory yet. The night had been draining, but I was perversely glad that it was not yet at an end.

"Are you ready to go home?" I finally asked.

"I'm ready to leave," she qualified, perhaps feeling the same as me.

The waitress appeared―she had been watching our tense conversation.

"How are we doing?" she asked me―again, only me.

"We're ready for the cheque, thank you," I ordered.

She seemed disconcerted. "S-sure," she stuttered, pulling a small leather folder from the front of her apron and handing it to me. "Here you go."

I had the payment ready, slipping it into the folder and handing it back to her. "No change," I told her.

I wondered what caused Bella to sigh as we exited the restaurant. I could deduce nothing from her pensive face. Her expressions always seemed to be the very opposite of what she was thinking.

The weather had turned sharply cold while we'd dined―and it was colder still in the car. I wasn't concerned, but I worried she'd catch a chill; and I still didn't trust she'd not go into shock.

I cooked under the blast furnace of the air conditioner, but she seemed comfortable enough. She kept bringing the sleeves of my jacket to her face―at first I thought she was trying to warm herself, but I heard her surreptitious inhales. Was she savouring my scent as I did hers? The notion sent a thrill through me.

We were on the freeway before I spoke again. There was so much I wanted to tell her but it would all have to wait. There was so much I needed to know first.

"So now," I turned to her, "it's your turn."

* * *

**Question: **Anyone want to guess what '80s song the girls were listening to in the car on the way to Port Angeles?

**~Thank you for reading.~**


	12. Candor

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight _is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**As I submit this chapter, I have many people to thank - hundreds, actually. More on that in the notes, but first:**

**Thanks, first and always to my beta, Lezlee. She has recently resumed her post-secondary career, and I couldn't be more excited for her.**

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

#1 Crush – Garbage  
Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Jeff Buckley

* * *

**CANDOR**

Bella seemed strangely unaffected by her narrow escape that night. Once her blood sugars and electrolytes were sufficiently balanced, she bounced back admirably, presenting no signs of shock. Upon reflection however, it wasn't only her welfare I should have been concerned with. I gave no thought to myself. I didn't realize it, but I was a mess.

While we were in the restaurant, she so entranced me I barely noticed the flirtatious behaviour of the serving staff. The curious glances from the other patrons didn't even register. She'd distracted me too – if only for a little while - from dwelling on the punishment those vile men deserved for what they'd wanted to do to her.

I was shocked to still feel capable of such violence. After all this time! But this was anger I'd never felt before; it was not the cold fury of years past, when I'd meted out my brand of divine justice on creatures little better than animals. No, the searing rage I experienced that night ran white hot, primal. It was personal.

For they would have violated _my_ Bella, sullied all that was pure and innocent within her, leaving her irreparably broken, an act which would have in turn broken me. For that they deserved no mercy.

As we left the restaurant, I quickly located them, congregated in a biker bar near the docks. I calculated exactly how long it would take to return to Port Angeles after seeing her safely home. I figured that, as the crow flew, it would be quicker to run.

I wanted to do it; I _ached_ to. I could picture snuffing out their worthless lives, each in turn. The leader, I would save for last. I would tear the heart from his chest and eat it before his eyes…

And then I would become just like him.

I could give myself up as a murderer, but never again could I face her. Time wouldn't erase the horror of my memory from her mind; I knew that. I'd seen it, etched indelibly on the faces of those women I'd 'saved' in the past.

It would break my family too. I pictured their grief. My parents would blame themselves; my siblings would hate me. They'd be forced to flee, scattering to avoid suspicion and subsequent investigation. It would be years before we'd reunite. Maybe we'd never be whole again. I could not be responsible for that. No, much as I wanted to, I couldn't ruin myself for her.

So it was with the screams of the monster denied that I took her from Port Angeles. I had to concentrate just to grip the steering wheel, glad that she could not see the tremors in my hands that hit, along with fresh spasms of raw rage and nausea. Her calm presence kept me from spiraling into the abyss, giving me focus, purpose. I had to keep her safe. And I needed to find out what she knew.

"Just one more question?" she pleaded, as I accelerated out of the merge lane.

"One," I agreed, after a second's deliberation.

"Well… you said you knew I hadn't gone into the bookstore, and that I'd gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that."

_Not that one._ How could I explain that without revealing what her scent did to me? Even now… I massaged my throat in a futile gesture to alleviate the burning.

Her lips pressed together in an unsatisfied line. "Next, right?" she predicted, sighing.

"I thought we were past all evasiveness," she complained, but she could tell she wasn't going to receive the answer she wanted.

"Okay, then: how does it work – the mind-reading thing? Can you read anybody's mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family…?"

_Oh yes, she suspects us all._

"That's more than one," I interrupted. She simply intertwined her fingers and gazed at me expectantly.

"No, it's just me. And I can't hear anyone, anywhere. I have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone's … 'voice' is, the farther away I can hear it. But still, no more than a few miles." I paused, struggling for a suitable analogy. "It's a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking all at once. It's just a hum – a buzzing of voices in the background, until I focus on one voice, and then what they're thinking is clear.

"Most of the time I tune it all out – it can be very distracting. It's easier to seem _normal_ when I'm not accidentally answering someone's thoughts rather than their words."

"Why do you think you can't hear me?" she asked immediately.

"I wish I knew. The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn't work the same way as the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM." Now _that_ was a better analogy.

"My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?" She looked as if a long-held assumption about herself had just been confirmed. Why would she feel that way?

I chuckled. "I hear voices in my mind and you're worried that _you're_ the freak? Don't worry, it's just a theory…" I took a deep breath, ready to hear her words at last. "Which brings us back to you."

She gnawed her thumbnail.

"Aren't we past all evasions now?" Even as I said that, I knew she'd ask more questions I couldn't answer.

"Most of them," she muttered. She seemed prepared to start, but startled me instead with a sudden shout.

"Holy crap! Slow down!"

"What's wrong?" I thought she'd seen an animal on the road, but the tree-lined corridor ahead was empty.

"You're going a hundred miles an hour!"

"Why are you shouting?"

"Are you trying to kill us?" She was still shouting.

"Relax, Bella." I told her, not slowing. "We're not going to crash."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked between gritted teeth.

"I always drive like this." I grinned at her.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" she ordered, pointing vehemently into the darkness.

"Trust me. I've never even gotten a ticket." I tapped my forehead. "Built-in radar detector, remember?"

"Ha, ha. My dad's a cop, and I was raised to abide by traffic laws. Besides, if you pretzelate us around a tree-trunk, you can probably just walk away."

Ah-_ha_. What _had_ she figured out?

"Probably." I smirked. "But you can't…." I backed off the accelerator. "Happy?"

"Almost." She crossed her arms disapprovingly.

I wasn't. "I hate driving slow," I muttered, to needle her.

"You call this slow?"

"Enough commentary on my driving," I snapped. "I'm still waiting for your latest theory."

"Right…" she whispered, chastened. She blushed and folded her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white. I immediately felt bad for speaking harshly.

"I won't laugh," I promised.

"I'm more afraid that you'll be angry with me."

I could never be angry with her. "Is it that bad?"

"Um, pretty much, yeah." She fiddled with her ring again. I waited patiently. I would wait all night if that's what it took.

"I don't know how to start." She gave a little laugh.

"Why don't you start at the beginning… you said you didn't come up with this on your own."

"No-o."

"So was it a book? A movie?"

"No – it was Saturday, at the beach."

What could have happened at the beach? Alice had lost track of her then… the space in my chest where my heart had been suddenly constricted.

"I ran into an old family friend – Jacob Black." _Black_… I knew that name… "His dad and Charlie have been friends since before I was born." I was still trying to place the surname as she continued.

"His dad is one of the Quileute elders," she explained, watching my expression carefully.

I gripped the wheel convulsively but there was nothing in the road ahead. Nothing but the face of Ephraim's great-grandson - the boy I'd seen helping his crippled father into the truck after I'd broken in to the police station.

"We went for a walk," she continued, "and he told me some old tribal legends – trying to scare me, I think. He told me one…"she swallowed, "about the Cold Ones."

"Oh?" Quileute legends of the Cold Ones preceded our arrival in Hoquiam by hundreds of years. They'd met our kind before we'd ever been here.

"And what are they?"

"Vampires," she whispered.

I felt that constricted space in my chest drop right down to the pit of my stomach.

"So you immediately thought of me?" I feigned a dismissive chuckle.

"Actually, no. He… mentioned your family."

I was stunned. The child had broken the treaty. He'd betrayed our existence. He'd probably just been telling tales to impress her - he mightn't even be aware that the legends were true. Nevertheless, he'd crossed the line.

There were only two ways this situation would end. We'd fight the Quileutes once again, or we'd have to disappear into the night. Though taking any life was abhorrent, it was the latter scenario that filled me with unbearable pain.

"He just thought it was a silly superstition," she added quickly. "He didn't expect me to think anything of it. It was my fault—I forced him to tell me."

"What do you mean?" I asked. How typical of her to want to protect her friend. Just like earlier, when she'd been concerned about Jessica and Angela rather than herself.

"Lauren said something about you— she was trying to provoke me."

Ugh, had that harpy been there as well? No doubt she'd heard about Tyler's plan to ask Bella to the prom. She never missed an opportunity to get in her digs at me, either.

"Then an older boy from the tribe said your family didn't come to the reservation, only it was the _way_ he said it... I was curious, so I got Jacob alone and I tricked it out of him."

How could someone so lacking in guile be capable of trickery? Yet she looked profoundly ashamed. Her expression struck me funny.

"Tricked him how?"

"I tried to flirt—it worked better than I thought it would." She shook her head in disbelief. She really had no perception of her allure.

"I'd like to have seen that." My laughter turned dark as I imagined how easily she'd have wrapped that boy around her finger. "And you accused me of dazzling people—poor Jacob Black." He would have been mere putty in her hands – just as I was.

She blushed, and directed her gaze out the window again.

"What did you do then?" I asked.

"I did some research on the Internet."

Alice said she'd spent most of Sunday morning doing research. Was that when she'd figured it out? Had she just been playing me tonight then, verifying her theory? If she'd guessed what I was, why didn't she seem afraid?

"And did that convince you?" My attempt to sound blasé failed miserably.

"No. Nothing fit. It was all kind of silly. I mean, that sort of stuff just doesn't exist."

I didn't respond. Taking my silence as acquiescence, she continued.

"But… when you've eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

I blinked; she'd surprised me again. Then I remembered the volume on her bookshelf. "You like mysteries then, Bella?"

"I prefer Jane Austen actually." She narrowed her eyes. "Quit trying to distract me."

"Sorry. Please go on. What then?"

"Then…"she trailed off. She was gnawing her other thumbnail now. I heard her take a deep breath. "I decided it didn't matter."

"It didn't _matter_?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could it not _matter?_ It was _everything_. Didn't she comprehend the danger of what I was? ... Or was she some perverse danger-junkie?

"No," she said softly. "It doesn't matter to me what you are."

"You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not _human_?"

I'd all but confirmed Jacob Black's story but I didn't care. She'd just shared the very sentiment I'd wanted-_yet dreaded_-to hear from her lips for weeks.

"No."

This just couldn't be real.

"You're angry," she sighed, "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No. I'd rather know what you're thinking—even if what you're thinking is insane."

"So, I'm wrong again?" she challenged, misunderstanding me.

"That's not what I was referring to. 'It doesn't matter'!" I repeated, through gritted teeth.

"I'm right?" she gasped.

"Does it _matter_?"

She took a deep breath. "Not really."

"And you're not afraid?"

"No." She paused. "But I _am_ curious."

_Of course. _She wasn't frightened, shocked, or terrified, like a normal person would be, but curious – and seriously deranged.

"What are you curious about?" I asked, resigned. It was obvious she had no intention of letting up.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen." That much was true, technically.

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

"A while," I admitted, allowing a small smile. How she charmed me, even as I revealed to her the ancient, bloodthirsty killer I was.

"Okay." The smile she returned broadened into a grin as I looked down at her. She was absolutely bizarre.

"Don't laugh—but how can you come out during the daytime?"

I laughed anyway. "Myth."

"Burned by the sun?"

"Myth."

"Garlic?"

"Doesn't bother me."

"Holy water?"

I snorted.

"Sleeping in coffins?"

"I won't even entertain that one."

Why couldn't I tell her that I never slept? Did I fear she'd somehow figure out I came to her room every night, and watched her slumber instead? Perhaps. Even with the limited time I feared we had left, it was difficult to reveal to her how truly freakish I was.

Soon those hours of utter peace would be taken from me. How would I endure the emptiness of my existence after we left tonight?

Steeling myself, I reasoned it best that 'this' – whatever it was – should end here, cut short with a swift blow.

"You haven't asked me the most important question yet," I began, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"Which one is that?"

Wasn't it obvious? "You aren't concerned about my diet?"

"Oh," she murmured, "that."

"Yes, that." The overriding desire that consumed me – that made me the fiend I was. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?" _…if I want to drink _your _blood?_

Her unmistakable flinch at my question was the first appropriate response I'd received from her all night. "Well, Jacob said something about that."

"What did he say?"

"That you didn't… hunt people. He said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"He said we weren't dangerous?" No Quileute would say that, not unless he was woefully ignorant, or irretrievably stupid.

"Not exactly. He said you weren't _supposed _to be dangerous. But his people still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

Was that why she thought it _didn't matter_ what I was – because the boy had told her we only hunted animals? How many others had he told about the treaty we'd signed with his people?

"Was he right then? About not hunting people?" Did that tremor in her voice indicate she comprehended the danger at last?

How far back in time did the legends of the Cold Ones stretch – four hundred years? Well before Carlisle's time, in any event. "The Quileutes have a long memory." My voice was a whisper.

"Don't let that make you complacent, though." I warned her. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We try," I explained, with effort. "We're usually very good at what we do, but sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a mistake?"

The sadness in her voice tore at me. I felt it too, resigned now that our departure from Forks would be inevitable.

"A very dangerous one," I murmured.

"I don't believe that."

_So stubborn_… I swallowed the pain and trained my gaze ahead into the night.

"Tell me more," she begged, breaking the screaming silence.

"What more do you want to know?"

"Were you and Emmett away, _feeding_ this weekend?"

"We were hunting, yes." _Feeding_. The word made the act sound unnatural – obscene. I supposed it was. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?" she asked.

"It makes me...anxious…to be away from you." That was an enormous understatement. "I wasn't joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over the other day. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you made it through the whole weekend unscathed… well, not entirely so," I added remembering.

"What?"

"Your hands."

She turned her palms up. "I fell," she sighed.

"That's what I thought." I almost smiled. "I suppose, being you, it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett's nerves."

"Three days?" she repeated, sharply. "Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back on Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" It was as if I'd deliberately affronted her by being absent. Had she missed me then?

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"Maybe I'll show you sometime." I'd just made another promise I couldn't keep. I was worse than a cad.

She was quiet again. I couldn't begin to guess what she was thinking. "You might have called me," she finally chastised.

"But I knew you were safe."

"But _I_ didn't know where _you_ were. I—"she hesitated, dropping her eyes.

"What?" Was I right? Had she missed me while I was away?

"I didn't like it. Not seeing you. It makes me anxious too." And then she blushed, taking my breath away.

I groaned as the exquisite scent of her blood beckoned me. It was wrong for her to be drawn to me in this way. It was wrong of me to encourage this. I heard myself repeat those words aloud.

"What did I say?" she replied in confusion.

"Don't you see, Bella? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved." I said it quickly, the words too painful. "I don't want to hear that you feel that way." That was a lie: I _longed_ to hear that she felt that way. "It's wrong. It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Bella—please grasp that."

"No," she retorted sullenly.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. I told you, it doesn't matter what you are. It's too late."

It was _never_ too late; she would not meet my fate. "Don't ever say that," I told her harshly, trying to fight back the visions of her death... of her crimson newborn eyes. Unable to bear them, I took my gaze off the road to look at her. The expression on her face was unreadable.

'What are you thinking?" I asked, still pained. She just shook her head, refusing to meet my eyes. Hers were so bright. I smelled the tears before they spilled over. What had I done?

"Are you crying?" I was appalled that she'd weep over me, even knowing what I was. And I'd spoken to her so roughly!

"No," she lied, her voice cracking. She rubbed her hand across her cheek, wiping the tears away before they could fall.

I reached for her with my right hand, hesitantly. I longed to stroke her cheek as I had while she slept, but my icy touch could offer her no comfort. I patted her ineffectually on the shoulder instead.

"I'm sorry," I told her. _I'm sorry for the pain I've brought into your life. I'm sorry that we can never be._

The darkness slipped by us in silence. We'd be within the limits of Forks in a few minutes. I'd see her safely to her father's doorstep and then drive away, out of her life. How would I bear it?

"Tell me something," I finally asked, when I could no longer bear the intensity.

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression—you didn't look that scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker—you know, self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain."

"You were going to fight them?" She wouldn't have stood a chance. "Didn't you think about running?"

"I fall down a lot when I run," she confessed.

"What about screaming for help?"

"I was getting to that part."

I shook my head. "You were right—I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive."

She sighed, and shifted in her seat to gather her purse. She had recognized the familiar scenery of the neighbourhood.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" she demanded.

I smiled. "Yes—I have a paper due, too." How ridiculously banal that sounded in light of the events of this evening. "I'll save you a seat at lunch." _You're such a liar, Edward._

We'd pulled up outside her father's house. The lights were on in the living room, and I could tell he was watching the game. And there was her beastly truck, parked in the driveway. Everything seemed so normal. And yet, everything had changed.

"Do you _promise_ to be there tomorrow?" she demanded.

"I promise." If nothing else, I'd be there to say goodbye.

She thought about that for a moment, and then nodded, apparently satisfied. Then she pulled off my jacket, inhaling deeply as she did so.

"You can keep it," I said. "You don't have a jacket for tomorrow." I liked the idea of her having something of mine, to remind her of me. If she found the bottle top in the pocket would she recognize it, I wondered?

She handed it back to me with an apologetic smile. "I don't want to have to explain to Charlie."

I grinned. "Oh, right." The appearance of an unexplained man's jacket after she'd supposedly gone dress shopping with her girlfriends would no doubt prompt a lot of unwanted questions.

She hesitated; her hand rested on the door handle, but she did not open it. She glanced at me hesitantly, as if I were about to disappear.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I assured her one last time.

"Tomorrow, then," she said, and opened the door, slowly, perhaps unwillingly.

I was suddenly bereft at the prospect of her departure. I didn't want to be parted from her. "Bella?" I called, and she turned back to me.

I moved swiftly, leaning towards her so that my face was only inches from hers. There were so many things I still had not told her, and now we were out of time. It was insane - I couldn't tell her before that I never slept - but now I wanted her to know I loved her… I heard her heart skip a beat.

And I lost my nerve.

"Sleep well," was all I could muster. How pathetic it sounded.

But I must have dazzled her again. As I leaned away, she blinked, as if dazed. Then she stepped out of the car awkwardly, leaning on the frame for support. She swayed as she walked up the front steps like she was tipsy, nearly missing the top one. It was comical . . . and I liked watching her shape from behind as she walked.

Once she was safely inside, the stress of the night crashed down once more. With a great sigh, I folded my arms over the steering wheel and let my head collapse between them, resting there. I remained motionless for several minutes, my eyes squeezed shut, concentrating only on the breath.

Sitting back, I picked the jacket up from the passenger seat and put it on. Her scent clung to it; her warmth remained within. It warmed me too. I inhaled deeply from the sleeves, the collar, the inside pocket, every part of it that had been close to her pulse points.

I managed to convince myself not to go back and kill those men, no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how much they deserved it. I made myself drive east, towards home.

But before I pulled back on to the road, I flipped my phone open. Bella may not have wanted to press charges for what they'd done, but I'd seen other crimes in the minds of those men. I could at least ensure that they paid for some of them.

* * *

The tension in the house was tangible. I picked it up several miles away as the thoughts of my family members came into range. Whose point of view was it I caught when my car turned on to the drive? The walls of the room were lined with books—Carlisle's study? Jasper's? It was definitely Carlisle's. At one point Esme was in his line of sight, glancing nervously out the window from where she sat on the divan.

The rest of them were scattered throughout the house. Emmett was downstairs, playing video games. Alice and Jasper were in the dining room, one reading, the other pacing the length of the floor. Their heads too, simultaneously lifted at the sound of rubber tires meeting gravel.

_Oh, thank goodness..._

Alice's relief was palpable, and Jasper felt it too—as did I. She knew why I'd gone to Port Angeles; she'd seen what would have happened to Bella had I not found her in time. Visions of what could have been still swam in her head—causing paroxysms of rage to engulf me once more. I gripped my shaking hands tighter against the steering wheel, forcing myself to concentrate on a task that was normally completely automatic.

The lights were on in the garage even though Rosalie could easily work on the cars in the dark. She rolled out from under the M3 on the creeper as I pulled in. I brought the vehicle to a halt and sat there for a moment, attempting to compose myself.

She fixed me with a baleful glare as I exited my vehicle.

I intended to walk right by without engaging her. I would speak to Carlisle only. He needed to know that the treaty had been broken; the rest was nobody's business.

She inhaled audibly. Then she slammed the hood down with one hand, instinctively placing the other over her nose and mouth in a vain attempt to staunch the venom. Bella's scent came from my jacket, a presence of its own, filling the space between us.

"What did you do?" she growled.

"Leave me alone," I warned.

"I can smell her on you, Edward. What did you _do?_"

I tried to move past but she blocked my path.

"Look at me!" she commanded. "You think we don't know where you've been?"

"Back off, Rose," I muttered.

Her lip curled in contempt when she saw that my eyes were still golden.

"You can't go on like this; you'll end up killing her. You know that, don't you? How long do you think you can resist?"

She continued to taunt me. "Or do you get off on that vile human stink? Is that why you're drawing this out―so you can screw her before you kill her?"

She had no idea what she was saying, but she wouldn't shut up. She stuck her chin out, haughtily.

"You should probably get it over with sooner rather than later. Only, take her somewhere outside when you do. You'll never get the stains out of the upholstery"—she sniffed—"or the stench."

There was nothing hidden in her thoughts now. Her jealousy and resentment were laid bare, and so was her fear. She saw our secret discovered; she saw us fleeing our comfortable existence, a family broken, hunted by the police, the Volturi. She saw the very same scenarios that I'd envisioned earlier tonight as I'd struggled not to murder those men. But she saw Bella as the cause, for underneath it all was sadness, rejection.

_Why not me?_

I'd never dream of striking a woman, not even when it was warranted, as it was now. She'd crossed the line and she knew it but she continued to stand her ground, her resentment screaming louder than any abuse she could hurl at me.

"Fuck off, Rosalie."

I'd been brought up not to swear at women, either. What was I becoming?

"Hey! Don't you talk to my wife that way!"

Emmett, alerted by the argument, chose the wrong moment to interfere. When I whipped around, I didn't see him: I saw only the ugly face of that man who would have violated my Bella.

I really think I would have hit him had he not acted so quickly. He was bigger and stronger than me: in an instant, both my arms were pinned behind my back, twisted painfully.

"Cool it, Ned," he whispered. "You're not yourself."

Rosalie backed down as she understood the look in his eyes.

_Why do I always end up in the middle of your arguments? _His unvoiced complaint was directed at his wife, not me. For the life of me, I can't think why I noticed that.

"What is the meaning of this?" Esme stood in the doorway, appalled. "Are you two fighting?"

"No," said Emmett, dropping me at once. I slid to the floor.

"It's not his fault," I gasped. "It's-it's mine . . . She knows, Esme. She figured it out. She knows what we are!"

Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Carlisle appeared by her side, a hand protectively on her shoulder. Emmett jumped up and mirrored his action, holding Rose back as she hissed with fury.

The wrenching silence that followed was broken by a fluttering, like a hummingbird's wings, as my tiny sprite of a sister launched herself in front of me, teeth bared, fists clenched, and ready to spring.

"She's not to be harmed," she snarled. "I won't allow it. She's not to be harmed because Edward loves her. She's meant to join our family."

_Oh, good Lord . . . _

A wave of calming energy preceded Jasper as he entered the room, washing over us all.

"Nobody's getting hurt, tonight, darlin'," he said softly, holding out his hand to her.

Hesitantly she looked to Carlisle, who sighed and indicated that it was all right for her to move aside. Warily she took Jasper's hand, her eyes never leaving Rosalie and Emmett.

"Get up, lad," Carlisle told me, but I had no strength in my legs. He had to pull me to my feet.

We gathered round the table in the great room, and I told them all of it, everything―how hard I'd tried to stay away from her but how she'd bewitched me instead. They understood my burning desire for her blood―they had all experienced it—but how could I possibly make them understand the unbearable longing I'd had for her all these weeks, or the joy and terror of that moment when I first realized I loved her? There were no words for those feelings.

I braced myself against the wave of pity I felt sure would emanate from my parents. That came, but with it so did another emotion entirely—one I felt most especially from my mother. I wasn't thinking straight because of the stress; I knew she'd be crying if she could, but I couldn't understand why was also biting back a smile.

And of course there was more: I told them of the impending feeling of danger I couldn't shake, how I'd followed Bella to Port Angeles, and panicked when she'd disappeared, only to find her cornered in a dark alley by those animals that passed for men.

"Their _thoughts_—what they wanted to do to her, Carlisle! They didn't deserve to live . . . "

And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rosalie's face crumble at an onslaught of memories she'd spent the better part of a century trying to forget. Now, as then, I lived through them with her.

It was unbearable for her to imagine someone else being forced to endure such degradation—such violation. Her pain was visceral. Only Emmett's firm grip on her hand kept her from running.

_I'm sorry, Edward. I didn't know!_

I told them how I'd rescued Bella in the nick of time, and then about our subsequent conversations, leaving out no detail. They were appalled when I revealed what Jacob Black had said to her about the Cold Ones.

"This means war." Emmett's growl broke the shocked silence.

"It's a clear violation of the treaty," Jasper agreed, and there were murmurs and affirmations all around.

Only Carlisle shook his head. "There is no question of the violation. But the boy doesn't believe that the legends are true. He doesn't understand what he's done. We can't go to war over an innocent slip of the tongue."

"It wasn't innocent," Jasper protested. "He knew exactly what he'd done. He admitted it to her."

"And who else might he have told?" Esme added, looking worried.

"That prospect is troubling," Carlisle concurred.

"We can't let this pass." Emmett knocked his fists together.

"She may have been on her way to guessing the truth, but there's no doubt his careless talk piqued her curiosity." Carlisle turned to me. "And you didn't deny to her what you are, either, did you?"

He was right; I was as culpable as Jacob Black.

"So are we leaving, then?" Alice asked quietly, looking into space.

It was inevitable. The preparations would begin immediately. Tomorrow, we'd be on our way to a new existence elsewhere. Everyone but me. Anguish threatened to cleave my very soul in two; my existence would be forfeit if I left Forks tonight.

"Under normal circumstances, we would have to," Carlisle replied. "But these are not normal circumstances, and"—his gaze was sorrowful as he turned to me—"and you would not come with us, would you?"

I stared down at my hands.

He lay a steadying a hand on my shoulder. "Bella has proved herself trustworthy so far. We have no choice but to continue to trust her. That being said-"

_No,no,no!_ Rosalie understood better than anyone my desire for vengeance against those men, but her desire to protect the family she loved outweighed any argument. She broke in forcefully.

"It's too much of a risk. She's a liability―her and the boy, both. We can't allow-"

"That being _said,_" Carlisle repeated firmly, steepling his hands together. "A polite reminder of the treaty wouldn't be out of order at this point."

"What do you propose, Carlisle?" Jasper asked.

"I propose," he replied, "that we speak with the Band Council."

* * *

**A/N:** I returned from Vancouver Island full of inspiration - and also to a full inbox. In my absence, the Wallbanger Nation came calling, and they are Legion - serious fictionistas, all. **My sincere thanks to feathers-mmmm for her rec** – and to all her followers who have embraced _Fox Fire_ and submitted their reviews. They could not have come at a better time.

**I also owe a serious debt of gratitude to Marliarna**, who started the ball rolling by whispering in feathers-mmmm's ear. I mentioned last chapter how much I enjoy her one shots, and I'll say it again. GO READ THEM, FOLKS! You can link to her profile through mine.

And finally, **I'd like to thank Rason for creating a gorgeous banner for Fox Fire**, which you can view here:

i830 . photobucket albums / zz224 / Woodlily _ 2010 / FoxFire . jpg

It's also on her blog: msrason . blogspot p / bannersbyrason . html Want a banner? Need a banner? Ask Rason!


	13. Revelations

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Thank you to Lezlee.**

* * *

I had an interesting idea about the Quileutes while I was on Vancouver Island, one that grabbed hold of me and quickly took on a life of its own. What began as a short scene within a much longer chapter morphed into this "missing moment" from _Twilight_. I hope you enjoy it.

**A/N about canon:** In our research, neither Lezlee nor I could find evidence that the Cullens actually witnessed the Quileutes shape-shift when they came to Washington in 1936. On the other hand we couldn't find any evidence that they _didn't _either. I'm quite happy to take dramatic license here.

* * *

**Playlist Picks:  
**Icky Thump - The White Stripes  
Going to California - Led Zeppelin

* * *

**REVELATIONS **

The ocean seethed at the cliff base, its ebb and flow the pulse of the phasing moon. The encroaching fog hid the swell from even the keenest eyes; only the quickening waves heralded the incoming tide. Biting moisture—the kind that clings to your skin like icy burrs—shrouded the outcrop where we stood, on guard, awaiting our enemies.

That night three years ago, when we'd re-signed the treaty, had been much like this. The early summer weather had made it unseasonably cool, but we lingered tonight in the same tense formation as we had then, at the invisible line demarcating two territories.

_How would they know if we crossed it?_ Alice wondered, furtively toeing the wet grass before her. The innocent expression on her face gave her away as much as her thoughts did.

I shook my head. "They'd know."

She scowled, returning her attention to Jasper, pacing back from the cliff top once more.

"It's been nearly an hour," he announced. "Maybe they're not coming."

"What if they didn't see the signal?" Emmett speculated.

"They saw it," Carlisle assured them. "Have patience."

"This is a complete waste of time,"Rosalie whispered to herself._ You can't reason with them. They're no better than animals. _

It was distressing to hear her thoughts, of course because she expressed the prejudice we all held against the Quileutes, save Carlisle. The hostility from the old days, back when Ephraim Black was chief, still ran deep.

We'd come to Hoquiam for solitude. Emmett, only a year into his new life and extremely volatile, had experienced difficulty maintaining the diet and it was necessary to leave Rochester. The Olympic Peninsula was about as far across the continent as we could get―it was the perfect place for him to recover and adapt.

We'd harboured no ill intentions towards the Quileutes; we'd strayed onto their land unintentionally. A group of them came across us hunting and immediately recognized us for what we were: evil spectres from legend come to life. The threat we represented awakened a sleeping animal within their physiology.

There were only three of them, but the spirit warriors were like nothing we'd ever encountered before. They'd have fought to their deaths to drive us off the peninsula―to the last one standing. Had Carlisle not negotiated the treaty when he did, I've no doubt there would have been bloodshed.

And it would have been a fight with enemies worthy of our strength and speed, for what an astounding thing it had been to see men run as wolves! Alice and Jasper weren't with us then; and the story seemed unbelievable to them, no matter how many times we repeated it. I've witnessed many strange things in my long life, but the shape-shifters were truly unique.

Carlisle's theory is that the gene causing their physical change died out with that generation. Mine is that along with it, so too did the vigour of the tribe. Ephraim's descendants, those of Levi Uley, and the first Quil Ateara grew to manhood as diminished beings, all too human and prey to modern ailments caused by poor diet and sedentary lifestyle.

Anticipating their approach now, I blocked Rosalie's distraction. Long minutes passed, nearly another quarter of an hour, before I felt a change in our surroundings. Jasper caught the whispers of emotions before I did―indistinct, but rapidly becoming discernable. He could sense their hostility and fear before I caught the gist of their thoughts, before any of us heard the gunning engine.

"They're coming."

One set of high beams broke the tree line, only one, and then dipped into a valley. I didn't recognize the older model truck when it eventually pulled into view, high beams still on full―a futile show of aggression―but the internal monologues of the occupants were all familiar to me. There were fewer members on the council than there had been three years ago. Someone had died during the interim.

Harry Clearwater was at the wheel. Billy Black rode shotgun, and 'Old Quil' Ateara sat behind. So it was Levi's son that had passed on. It was no surprise that none of his descendents had picked up the mantle. Joshua, for one, had abandoned the reservation years ago. If the son he'd left behind followed in his footsteps, he'd prove equally unworthy of the family legacy.

The truck pulled to a stop about a hundred yards back from the line, and the engine abruptly silenced. Harry never once took his gaze from us as he left the vehicle, hauled Billy's wheelchair from the bed, and helped him into it. The effort caused him to wheeze, and I could tell that his erratic heartbeat was caused more by exertion than fear. Carlisle heard it as well, his physician's mind immediately swinging into diagnostic mode.

Billy's diabetic neuropathy of course was also evident. I felt his shame as he secured his useless lower limbs atop the footrests of his wheelchair. He gripped the armrests tightly as Harry began pushing him across the rocky ground.

Simultaneously, and surprisingly nimble for his age, Old Quil stepped down from the cab on his own, squinting into the gloom, taking in our numbers. In tandem with the others, he approached cautiously, stopping at a respectful distance from the line.

"There's life in the old coot yet." Emmett chuckled, remembering how terrified the boy, Quil, had been by the first sight of him all those years ago.

The old one's cloudy eyes narrowed as he recognized first Emmett and Carlisle, then me. I saw him give a quick hand signal to the others.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath.

_What's the matter?_ Jasper was immediately on the alert.

I responded, low and quick. "He remembers what I can do. He just cued them to think in their own language."

_You don't know Quileute? _He crossed his arms over his chest disapprovingly.

I'd never thought it worth my time to learn. "What was the point in learning a dead language?" I snapped.

_Surely, you can infer? _

And normally I could, because people tend to think in concepts rather than words. But all three of them were chanting in silent unison. It was a mantra to block me.

Jasper quickly grew frustrated._ Can't you make out anything at all?_

I hung my head. "Nothing's clear."

But his thoughts _were._ He let me know, in no uncertain terms, that our sudden tactical disadvantage displeased him.

It wouldn't have taken an empath to sense the antagonism in the clearing that night, but there was little fear coming from Old Quil. In fact, he'd never before displayed such assurance in our presence.

He was keeping a secret, one veiled behind both the speech of his ancestors and a meditative technique employed to confound me. The harder I tried to figure out what it was, the more elusive it became. His smugness was irritating.

Carlisle stepped forward, motioning for the rest of us to remain where we were. The three Quileutes mirrored his movement, the silence enduring until he broke it.

"Thank you for coming," he began, looking them in the eyes, one by one. "We would not have called on you had it not been urgent."

They kept silent, so he got straight to the point. "There's been a breach of the treaty. We know that someone from your tribe has told the legend of the Cold Ones to an outsider."

Their tense postures immediately relaxed, as much as to say _We were called here for that?_ Indeed, Harry snorted dismissively.

"The legends are no secret. Anybody can learn about them."

"That's true. But this kind of breach could only have come from a member of your tribe."

"How do you know?" he hedged. "Ours isn't the only tribe your kind has"-he spat his next words -"_preyed_ upon."

"That's also true," Carlisle acknowledged, though they doubted the sincerity of what he said next. "Believe me; I deeply regret how your people have suffered at the hands of . . . _others_ like us in the past."

Old Quil's face betrayed nothing, but I felt something from him, something that he quickly quelled.

Carlisle continued. "We've kept our side of the bargain. We've not hunted on your lands, nor bitten any humans while we've lived here. That was true during your grandfathers' time and it remains so now."

As he reiterated the second term of the treaty, his thoughts unintentionally flickered to my ordeal with Bella, and how close I'd come to ruin that January afternoon. Even though he flinched with immediate apology, I was ashamed of the worry I'd put him and the rest of the family through since.

"That's why we've come. The information we have is quite specific. Our family was mentioned, _by name_, and we were identified for what we were. Without question."

They knew they couldn't bluff him or deny the truth of his words any longer. I felt fear roil through them. Harry and Billy were no longer thinking in Quileute, and they were sweating.

"Who did this?" Billy finally asked. What would he have done had he known it was his own son?

"It doesn't matter."

_Why is he protecting the brat?_ Jasper wondered, but I almost found myself smiling at the way Carlisle had unknowingly echoed Bella's words from earlier that night.

"Our conviction is that the revelation was made innocently. The young person in question does not believe that the legends are true."

He let that information sink in for a moment. Their minds raced, their hearts pounding as they speculated the identity of the betrayer among them. They realized that it could have been anyone. How many of their young people had discarded the old ways―had made fun of their superstitions?

"Luckily, we're confident that the recipient of this information can be trusted not to spread it any further." As he uttered this, I felt both Rosalie's scepticism, and Jasper's worry.

"Unfortunately, we don't know to whom else our secret has been revealed, or if other members of the tribe have chosen to speak so carelessly."

He had them truly worried that he was about to throw down the gauntlet.

Emmett was like a bull readying to charge, practically scraping the dirt with his toes.

"We don't want war with you," Carlisle assured them.

_What?_ Emmett gasped. Rosalie elbowed him.

"We simply request that you teach your young people to respect the sanctity of tribal lore and"- there was menace behind his smile now -"to ensure that such a breach does not occur again in the future."

They had been given a stay of execution and they knew it. I wanted to hear their gratitude for our mercy, but I knew that wouldn't happen. They were too proud.

When Harry finally spoke again, he was gruff. "Ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it. Our young people will be taken in hand. You have our assurance that this won't happen again."

Carlisle sighed and bowed his head, far too genteel as always. "That's all we ask. Thank you."

It looked as if they were about to leave. That was our intention as well; we had no more business with them, but Old Quil was speaking to Billy in their tongue once more, his voice urgent and low.

His thoughts were suddenly ice clear and, too late to warn Carlisle, I could only watch as he shuffled forward to play his trump card.

"We will see to it that the terms of the treaty continue to be kept. We now charge you to do the same."

Carlisle was taken aback. "We're not in violation. You know this."

"No." He looked disappointed―he'd hoped to find a weak link amongst us, a scapegoat. "None of you have the demon's eyes."

His gaze fixed on Alice, and most especially, on Jasper. He did not know them as he felt he knew the rest of us. He'd wanted one of them to be responsible for the vision he'd received. He'd wanted an excuse to get us off his lands.

"All the same, we know that your kind has been hunting humans in the west again. It will not be tolerated."

Without doubt, he referred to recent deaths at a remote campsite in Yellowstone, which park wardens had previously attributed to a grizzly attack_._

_ How did he know?_

Carlisle silently asked me the same question, echoed quickly by the rest of my family.

"I don't know," I whispered, frustrated. Perhaps he'd been to the sweat lodge or something. I had no idea; I had nothing more to offer that night. I was spent.

My father's practiced diplomacy gave nothing away. "If those that prey on human blood come here, we will make them leave. You have our word on that."

Quil's face was a severe mask. "And, that's all _we_ ask."

There was nothing more to be said. They returned to the truck, as they'd come, never allowing their backs to fully turn to us. As if we needed to wait for that opportunity to attack them. As if we'd be so base!

Upon departing the clearing, Old Quil turned his face out the window and looked at me one last time.

_We'll be watching you,_ he promised.

Once the noise of the engine had faded, Carlisle turned to me, his forehead creased with worry.

"The only thing I saw clearly was the aftermath of an attack," I told him. "It's impossible to know if it's the same group Alice has been tracking."

She was toeing the dirt again, guiltily. "Um . . . yeah. I kind of lost track of them a few weeks ago actually," she admitted, then, her brow furrowed defensively, she added, "They're very hard to predict."

"It's not your fault," he told her. "We'll just have to be vigilant from now on." He glanced at the rest of us, rubbing his hand over his face in an all-too-human gesture of frustration and fatigue. "It's been a long night. Let's go home."

The rest of us prepared to depart but Esme hung back.

"I'll join you later," she said to Carlisle. "I need to hunt now." She had come to stand very close beside me, and her hand was on my shoulder. "Will you come with me?" she asked.

Truthfully, all I wanted at that point was to retreat to my room and curl up on the couch, so I could stare into nothingness until the sun came up. I had no energy left to chase game.

"You'll feel better for it," she entreated. I knew her reasons for seeking my company. Resigned, I complied.

We quickly came upon some white-tailed deer―yearling bachelors―and made short work of them. I'm ashamed to admit that I was needlessly rough with the one I took. I caught it mid-leap, enjoying the terror in its eyes as my hand closed around its throat, ending its life.

I took pleasure at the snap of its spinal cord. I might have gone further; I might have done to it the injury I would have inflicted on Bella's attacker had Esme not stayed my hand.

I felt terribly guilty about it afterwards. Carlisle had taught us to honour the spirits of the animals that sustained us. Instead, I'd violated it just as surely as that man in Port Angeles would've done to Bella. But Esme held no reproach. She just accompanied me as we took our kills to a precipice above a river gorge and drained them in silence.

Her mothering instincts had been correct, as usual. I hadn't been thirsty, but the sustenance did me good. Feeling somewhat revived, I disposed of the carcass and sat against a large boulder with my arms wrapped around my knees, thinking of nothing in particular.

She finished her own, casually tossing the remains into the gorge and brushing her hands back and forth against each other, fastidiously. Her daintiness belied her great strength. Then she came to sit beside me, and together we watched the fog bank move inland, obscuring the valley below.

"How did you do it?" she finally asked. "How did you stop yourself from going back afterwards . . . and killing those men?"

"I wanted to." I swallowed the rage that returned with the memory. "But I thought about the consequences―how I'd never be able to see her again if I did . . . And I thought about what it would do to all of you."

She nodded. "I admire you," she responded after a short pause.

_How could she feel that way?_

"If it had been one of you that was threatened―or even Carlisle―I don't think that I could have restrained myself."

Her eyes were fierce, and her thoughts plainly showed that she would have been merciless. My mother, the epitome of grace, was a tigress underneath. It was a side of herself she almost never revealed.

"Then you can imagine how difficult it was."

"More difficult than stopping yourself from killing her that first day?"

I nodded, and watched a smile spread slowly across her face. "So you've truly come to love her then?"

"Yes," I sighed. For some reason, it was a painful thing to admit; I could only shake my head in confusion. "I don't know how it happened."

"You say that as if you're confessing a very great weakness. But you've displayed astounding strength"-I scowled-"No: hear me. You've no idea how happy I am that you feel this way."

I did of course, and she knew it. I'd heard her lament my lack of interest in female company for decades.

"It also worries me a great deal," she confessed. "But . . . we don't get to choose who we fall in love with, do we? Our paths are set."

I refused to believe that meant Bella's path was set as well―not along the routes Alice had foreseen anyway.

"I can't hurt her. I _won't_."

Here, in the open air of the mountains, I was certain of that fact. Yet I'd never truly tested my control. Aside from the drive back from Port Angeles, we'd spent no time alone together. Even then, there'd been moments when the thirst had burned. That wasn't what was on Esme's mind, however.

"No, but she can hurt you." _As long as she remains human_.

She didn't say it, but that's what she meant, for she went on to reiterate the very sentiments Emmett had uttered on the weekend: she'll grow older; she'll leave you behind. She'll die.

"It would just be so much easier if she was . . . like you."

_Don't believe I haven't considered it, mother. _But ending her life for my own selfish desires was not an option.

"Her humanity is what I love most about her. What right do I have to take that away?"

She bowed to my logic for the moment, even if she didn't agree. "She must be very special, then."

"She is."

"And does she return your feelings?"

"I don't know; I still can't read her thoughts. Whenever I try, she says or does the very opposite of what I expect. It's extremely frustrating."

Her smile was enigmatic, as it had been earlier in the night. I didn't know what I'd said to amuse her and I knew she couldn't keep her thoughts from me for long, but she was content to tell me then that she was happy for me.

"I must say that it's refreshing to see your . . . _less acerbic_ side. I never thought there'd be anyone capable of turning your head so completely."

I just rolled my eyes.

She cleared her throat. "And . . . I have to admit I'm glad you never bonded with Tanya in that way."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong: she's lovely. She's just . . . not the type of girl you'd bring home to meet your mother." And she winked at me.

The fog bank thinned just enough to reveal the disc of the moon, and we watched its transit across the sky for a long time.

"Are you still thirsty?" she finally asked me.

"No."

She squeezed my shoulder, smiling warmly. "Then let's go home."


	14. Sanguine

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Many thanks to Lezlee for continuing to beta this story despite her hectically busy life. I'd be nowhere without you, babe.**

* * *

**Playlist Picks:  
**I Feel It All – Feist  
Yellow – Coldplay

* * *

**SANGUINE**

The emotional force of that long night dissipated, leaving me behind like driftwood after a storm. I had the rest of my existence to contemplate what had happened and what it all meant, but as the tumult died away, I was certain of one thing. This was no time for reflection. It was time to act.

Before last night, I'd thought my love for Bella was obscene and unnatural. But now I knew otherwise. She was an ephemeral, delicate butterfly, irresistibly drawn to the flame of danger, and it was my duty to protect her. It did not matter that she would age and die. I'd suffer if she left, but if she wanted me, I'd embrace the time we had. I would not change her, no matter what.

And what a relief it was that my family finally knew. I had no idea how much that secret weighed on me until it was gone. They'd all guessed, of course, but whether or not they approved now was irrelevant. To coin Alice's phrase and turn it on its head, my path was decided, and Bella was on it.

And could it really be that simple―that my monstrous truth didn't matter to her, either? For when the walls came down, she seemed to accept it so calmly. I recalled every look, every nuance of the moments we'd shared last night, but my inability to hear her thoughts still left me doubting. Had she only been placating the madman at her side, telling me what she thought I wanted to hear? There was always the damnable doubt.

But there was no doubt I'd scored a victory last night. I'd gone to Port Angeles to keep her safe, but ultimately it was she who'd rescued me. I'd controlled my violent instincts for her sake. Whether or not I felt worthy of Esme's praise, I had new faith that I might yet be strong enough to conquer the demons that still haunted me.

There remained the bigger, potentially deadly picture that still framed all of this. There was no reason to assume the vampires Old Quil had envisioned would come here, but given Bella's uncanny ability to attract danger I couldn't remain complacent. More than ever, it was imperative to keep her by my side.

Safe at _my_ side: what irony.

_Just be yourself. On second thought, er . . . just try to be _normal_._

Alice was full of good advice like that, usually offered in haste, as she'd done this morning, seconds before leaping through my open window, tackling her perplexed husband, and bundling him into the back seat of Rosalie's car.

_It'll happen soon . . . _she promised, giving me a little wave of encouragement.

_One step at a time, Alice._ I smiled ruefully, watching the mist swallow the vehicle from sight.

Last night's freezing fog had encroached inland, throwing a ghostly shroud around the forest. Daylight offered only murky backlighting, barely illuminating the backbone of the peninsula and icy condensation bathed every surface, pooling at low points before falling, pattering like rainfall. There could not have been a more perfect start to the day.

Carlisle's rounds began somewhat later than usual, but I declined the lift he offered me. Alice had orchestrated my unaccompanied departure the moment she'd seen Rosalie heading for the garage.

"I'll be right behind you," I said.

I gave him his privacy during the commute; I was lost in my own thoughts this morning, anyway.

It was still early, and there was little activity on the main street when we arrived in Forks. Returning his nod at the hospital turnoff, I backtracked, detouring past the police station. Chief Swan's cruiser was already in the parking lot, assuring me there'd be no need to conceal the Volvo later. I only wished that fact made me a little less nervous.

Absently, I glanced at the jacket slung over the passenger seat. She probably had another to wear, but I'd brought it along anyway―a thinly veiled excuse to drive her to school. I lifted the closest sleeve to my face and inhaled deeply, welcoming her lingering floral scent into my lungs. It brought warmth to my chest but none of the painful burning.

Coasting silently in neutral, I pulled slowly up to the white house. As ever, I was completely unsettled by my inability to sense any human thought coming from within. It was like she was cheating somehow.

It occurred to me that one of her friends might have already come by to pick her up. Bowing to nerves, I almost drove away when I caught movement in the living room. A lamp switched off and a door closed, blocking light from the kitchen. I parked behind her wretched truck and waited.

Last night, she'd had no choices. She'd been cornered in that alleyway, and I'd been her only means of escape. I'd made the decision about her fate just as surely as her attackers had, though I believed I'd acted with her wellbeing in mind. Today, armed with the knowledge of what I was, the choices would be hers to make. My stomach clenched with anticipation as I continued to wait.

I was not kept waiting long; she was at the front door momentarily. If my dead heart could have lifted at the sight of her, I know it would have. She managed to look lovely in even the bulkiest winter attire. This morning she was dressed in heavy layers, with the hood of her woollen jumper pulled over her head. Perhaps it was just as well I'd brought the jacket.

She must have been running somewhat later than usual. With her gaze trained on the ground, she hurried down the steps and into the driveway at a brisk pace. She was already at the door of her truck before she noticed my car was parked behind it.

Her surprise was exquisite―comical―her balance, precarious, making me glad of the textured gravel surface beneath her feet. Her heart stuttered, and then raced as she realized I was already standing beside the open passenger door.

"Would you like to ride with me today?" I offered politely. Part of me wished she'd refuse―the very small, unselfish part that wanted her to run for safety while she still could.

"Yes, thank you." There was a faint tremor in her voice, but she barely hesitated; she took the seat as if it were rightfully hers.

I shut the door behind her, not bothering to affect human pace as I returned to the driver's seat. If my natural speed unnerved her, she made no comment.

"How are you?" I enquired, letting my arm fall casually across the back of her headrest while I reversed down the driveway. There was no need to; I just wanted an excuse to turn and take in her expression. As usual, it told me nothing.

Nevertheless, I was waiting for the answer to the most important question on my mind, one I'd asked it as if it didn't really matter at all.

"I'm well." Her response was equally off-hand, though she was pale and drawn―even more so than usual. She had my jacket in her lap.

"I brought it for you"—I indicated—"I didn't want you to get sick or something."

"I'm not that delicate," she quipped, but put it on anyway, surreptitiously sniffing the cuff of one sleeve as she rolled it back.

"Aren't you?" I whispered, glancing at the hollows under her eyes.

When I'd checked on her after the hunt, she'd slept fitfully, hugging her knees to her chest and shivering. Trails of salt stained her cheeks. I hated seeing her in distress, but at the same time felt grateful she'd eventually reacted normally to what she'd been through.

I took the woollen blanket, draped over the rocking chair in the corner, and placed it on top of the comforter, over her shoulders. Then I sat in that chair, and waited for her shivers to subside, hoping when she awoke she'd think her father had covered her. She must know that he checked on her nearly every night too.

Before I left, she'd said my name aloud once more.

The air conditioning swirled her scent around the car now, stunning me. Or maybe it was the oppressive fog shrouding the streets that permeated the body of the vehicle, striking me dumb. After all we'd been through last night it was difficult to know where to begin. She appeared as uncertain as I was.

"What, no twenty questions today?" I finally teased, unable to take the charged silence any more.

"Do my questions bother you?" she asked immediately. She seemed relieved I'd spoken first.

I smirked but kept my gaze trained on the road. "Not as much as your reactions do."

That troubled her. "Do I react badly?"

"No, that's the problem. You take everything so coolly―it's unnatural. It makes me wonder what you're really thinking."

"I always tell you what I'm really thinking," she demurred.

I laughed. No one ever voiced their true thoughts, this I knew better than anyone. "You edit."

"Not very much." She was honest; I had to give her that.

"Enough to drive me insane," I replied, still chuckling.

That little crease between her brows reappeared and she looked away, out the window. "You don't want to hear it," she murmured, and I smelled the faint salty tang of unshed tears.

She was so wrong. I wanted to know all her secrets, every one, even though I feared what they'd be.

I hadn't bothered keeping to the speed limit either, so we were already nearing the school. As we entered the parking lot, she glanced behind her, speculatively.

"Where's the rest of your family?" she asked after a short pause.

"They took Rosalie's car." I shrugged, tilting my head to infer that the red convertible we were pulling up alongside belonged to my sister. A crowd of automobile enthusiasts had already gathered around it, some of whom I'm sure, were drooling.

"Ostentatious, isn't it?" I grimaced.

In a typical show of pique, Rosalie had gone straight to the garage this morning, complaining that she couldn't possibly ride to school in the Volvo until it was fumigated. Besides, what point was there in remaining inconspicuous if everybody knew about us now, anyway?

She didn't deserve Emmett's patience, but he accompanied her in a show of solidarity followed, at the last minute, by a grinning Alice and her surprised husband.

"Um, wow." Bella exhaled, wide-eyed. "If she has that, then why does she ride with you?"

She didn't need to know she was the cause of a familial rift. "Like I said, it's ostentatious"—like most everything about my sister was—"We _try_ to blend in." That's why we rode in the Volvo―the _safe_ car―every day.

"You don't succeed." She shook her head, chuckling. She was right about that, of course. "So why'd Rosalie drive today if it's more conspicuous?"

"Hadn't you noticed?" I met her at the front of the car. "I'm breaking _all_ the rules now."

Every single person in that parking lot turned to stare as we walked past. If I'd cared at all about what any of them thought, I might have been self-conscious. I suppose it was an astonishing sight. After all, why would weird, stuck-up Edward Cullen suddenly be hanging out with Bella Swan? Didn't he hate her guts, or something?

_You have _got_ to be kidding me!_

I take that back; I did pay attention to the thoughts of one person among the many. Mike Newton tore his gaze from the body of the M3 just long enough to notice us walk away together, and I was quite gratified to hear his inner wail.

I wanted to close the careful little gap of space between us―to put my arm over her shoulder or something, and rub his face in it just a little―but I wasn't sure she'd want me to. For the moment, I was content to sense him trailing behind us, quietly bereft.

Jessica waited for Bella under the shelter of the cafeteria roof's overhang, appearing even more astonished by our arrival together this morning than she'd been outside the restaurant last night.

Never before, or since, has her mind been as completely silent as it was in that moment. She just stood there, gawping, and holding the jacket straight out in front of her.

"Hey, Jessica," Bella greeted her, taking it. "Thanks for remembering."

"Good morning, Jessica." I greeted her politely, enjoying the silence.

"Er . . . hi." _Oh. My. God._ _Oh my God. Omigod, omigod, omigod!_

Her mind was suddenly, loudly back in full throttle, whirling with gossip. Her gazed raked rapidly back and forth between the two of us, making what she could of it.

_I knew it! I told Angela last night―I could totally tell!_ _How'd she manage to get a date with_ him_?_ "I guess I'll see you in Trig," she finally said, giving Bella a significant look.

Her face fell. "Yeah, I'll see you then."

I did not envy the inquisition that awaited her in third period. "What are you going to tell her?" I wondered, watching Jessica peeking over her shoulder as she walked away.

"Hey, I thought you couldn't read my mind!" she hissed.

"I can't-" I began, startled, then realizing what she meant, I warned, "However, I can read hers―she'll be waiting to ambush you in class."

"It doesn't take a mind reader to figure _that_ out." She rolled her eyes.

"So what _are_ you going to tell her?"

"What does she want to know?" she persisted, handing me my jacket.

I shook my head. "That's not fair," I told her, smugly.

"No, you not sharing what you know―now _that's_ not fair."

Summarizing the train of Jessica's jumbled thoughts was not difficult but there was a difference between the answers she sought from Bella and those that were important to me. I deliberated as we walked, waiting until we were outside the door of her first class before answering.

"She wants to know if we're secretly dating. And she wants to know how you feel about me," I finally said.

"Yikes. What should I say?"

Students were staring as they filed past us into the classroom, and Mike Newton, already seated, watched forlornly from inside. For his benefit, I caught a stray lock of her hair between my fingers, just as he'd done the other day. It curled naturally around my fingers, as warm and silky as I'd imagined it to be.

"Well . . . " I wound it back into the twist at her neck. "I suppose you could say yes to the first if you don't mind"—and her heart pounded loudly in response—"It's easier than any other explanation."

"I don't mind," she squeaked.

"And as for her other question"-I grinned-"well, I'll be listening to hear the answer to that one myself." I enjoyed the sound her breath made as it hitched in her chest.

"I'll see you at lunch," I promised.

She narrowed her eyes at me, and the delightful flush of irritation on her face deepened and spread down her neck as she flounced away, hurrying into the room.

* * *

"Are you feeling better, dear?" Mrs. Cope asked, taking my absence note from me.

"Much better, thank you," I assured her.

_Poor lamb, _she commiserated, reading the vague excuse written there. She'd given up the hemophilia theory. I had to admit that her latest―sickle-cell anemia―was imaginative, but I was the wrong genotype entirely.

_The treatment must have done him some good; he's not looking quite so peaky today._

After handing in a hastily rehashed essay to Mr. Berty, I settled in to my first class of the day, props at hand and pen poised, appearing rapt with the lecture. My attention was in another classroom down the hall of course, the one Bella shared with several friends in her immediate circle. I wasn't interested in Mike's petty jealousy, and she barely spoke with him, but I did wonder if she'd be more forthcoming with Angela than she would with Jessica later on.

During their brief exchange while Mr. Mason was collecting assignments, Angela showed no interest in gossip.

"I was so relieved when you showed up at the restaurant. We were just about to call your dad." She wasn't scolding, just expressing her concern.

Bella hung her head. "I'm really sorry. I got totally turned around after I went to the bookstore." A white lie of course: she'd gone right past it. "It was lucky Edward saw me when he did."

"You both looked a little freaked out. Was everything okay?"

"He, uh . . . helped me out of a sticky situation. Let's leave it at that."

"Oh." Bella's prevarication left her with no doubt that there was more to the story but typically, she didn't press. "That was a coincidence he was in town."

"Yes, it was." And her reply indicated that the subject was closed. Attempting to shift to another, she started asking a question about cell phones, only to be interrupted as Mr. Mason called the class back to order.

Angela's estimation of me might have risen a little since last night, but she was right to remain wary. I was grateful she didn't pry; she was a good friend to Bella.

"So, why was Crusoe so afraid when he saw that footprint on the beach?" Mr. Berty was asking now, unsurprised by the somnolent silence that greeted him.

_Of course they haven't read it. Why do I waste my time . . . ?_

Crusoe's state of mind after he discovered that solitary footprint was one of the great psychological moments of English literature but it could hardly compete with matters of the heart―specifically, matters of my own unbeating heart and its blasted insecurities.

I glanced down at the small volume balanced on my knee, under the desk. Keeping alert in case a question was asked of me, I continued translating the text. I knew the verse by heart, but I couldn't stop re-reading it these days.

_Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day  
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps . . .  
And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,  
Hunting for you, for your hot heart  
Like a puma . . . _

Words of a poet who'd already lived and died during the span of my lifetime―on another continent―yet this man hungered for his love exactly the way I did for Bella. I'd read such words, hundreds upon hundreds of times, but they'd never been more than print on the page to me.

But _this_―it affected me like music; it made me feel alive. I did not doubt that this man had truly lived_, _and that I finally understood what I read because _I too _was alive. I lost myself in the verse until the bell rang.

Bella didn't share her next class, History, with any of her friends. I scanned the minds of the other students, hoping that maybe one of the boys might at least look at her, but to no avail. She wasn't even called on for an answer. I watched the fog gradually lift over that second hour, resigned to wait for my own answers until third period.

Sure enough, Jessica's darting field of vision betrayed her agitation. She jumped a little in her seat as each student passed through the doorway, and, spying Bella's reluctant approach, prepared to pounce.

"Tell me everything!" she demanded, not even giving her a chance to sit down.

"What do you want to know?" I saw her recoil a little.

"What happened last night?"

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. "He brought me dinner and then he drove me home." And she claimed she didn't edit much!

_Oh, come on!_ "How'd you get home so fast?"

"He drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." A comment no doubt uttered for my benefit, and my inadvertent laugh raised a couple of my classmates' eyebrows. I straightened my face and continued listening.

"Was it like a date―did you tell him to meet you there?"

"No. It was a complete surprise."

Jessica didn't buy that, but she had more important questions to ask. "So are you going out again?"

"He offered to drive me to Seattle on Saturday because he thinks my truck isn't up to it ―does that count?"

"Yes." She nodded. "Do you think you'll be back for the dance?"

"No." Bella replied curtly. "Definitely not."

_Saturday._ Alice's forecast for the weekend remained unchanged; I'd asked her about it again this morning. And though she'd never been there, the lush leafy clearing she'd seen Bella and I going to was definitely my hilltop meadow.

I was still toying with the idea of cancelling. But I _had_ promised her she'd find out why I couldn't be seen in sunlight one day. Perhaps it was better to get the running and screaming over with sooner, rather than later.

And what if I was still overcome, despite availing of every precaution? Even Alice admitted that the odds were still only about fifty-fifty.

If Bella died by my hand, I didn't deserve to continue existing. I hadn't told anybody this, but my plans following her death had already taken a darker turn. When it happened, I intended to find a way to accompany her―into the dark, or whatever it was that awaited my kind afterwards.

But Alice refused to focus on my negativity. "I saw something else," she'd announced, trying to be blasé. "_If_ you're interested . . . "

As her sly smile widened, she revealed a possibility that filled me with great joy. In her vision, Bella stood at the front door of our house, stepping over the threshold . . .

"Please, Bella," Jessica was begging now. "Give me some details."

"Well . . . okay, I've got one," she relented at last. Maybe now she'd reveal how she truly felt about me. I listened eagerly.

"You should have seen the waitress flirting with him―it was over the top. But he didn't pay any attention to her at all."

I remembered the warmth of her touch―her every blush―and Bella remembered that the waitress had flirted with me?

"That's a good sign." Jessica approved. "Was she pretty?"

"Very―and probably nineteen or twenty."

"Even better. He must like you."

"I _think_ so, but it's hard to tell. He's always so cryptic." She frowned.

Ah yes, how had she put it? Saving her life one day, then treating her with complete contempt the next? I'd handled everything so very badly. So badly in fact, that even after rescuing her last night she still held many misconceptions about me.

"Well, I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with him," Jessica simpered.

"Why?" Bella wondered, her train of thought no doubt headed in a completely different direction from her friend's at that moment.

"He's so intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to him."

"I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around him," she admitted. But I didn't intimidate her—that much was certain.

"Oh well. He _is_ unbelievably gorgeous." In Jessica's view, that excused all my flaws―even the fact that I appeared to have no interest in dating her. "So you like him, then?"

"Yes," she replied, causing my cold dead heart to warm just a little.

"I mean, do you _really_ like him?" Jessica persisted.

"Yes," she repeated, her furious blush bringing venom to my mouth.

"How _much_ do you like him?"

_This was it. Now I'd know . . . _

"Too much. More than he likes me, I'm sure." She sighed. "But I don't see how I can help that."

I was at a complete loss. I absolutely did not understand her―not one iota.

Mr. Varner called on Jessica for an answer then, and she didn't get a chance to return to the subject again. Wisely, Bella took evasive action as soon as the bell rang:

"In English, Mike asked me if you'd said anything about Monday night."

"You're kidding! What did he say?" she gushed.

"I told him you said you had a lot of fun―he looked pleased."

"Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer," she demanded, and they spent the next hour discussing nuances of speech, and Mike's many facial tics. I spent Math wondering exactly what I needed to do to correct Bella's misconceptions about my feelings towards her.

I anticipated the bell for lunch by a full second, not caring that the rest of the students might notice how quickly I left the room. Arriving outside her classroom another second later, I managed to lean casually against the lockers, as if I'd been there all along.

Jessica was with her, of course. She took one look at me, rolled her eyes, and departed.

"See you later, Bella," she promised, her voice filled with implication. She couldn't wait to start her next round of interrogation during last period.

"Hello," I said, once we were alone, unsure whether my tone evinced more my amusement or my irritation with the conversation I'd heard earlier.

She returned my greeting sheepishly, knowing full well that I'd been listening. A familiar awkward silence hung between us as we walked towards the cafeteria. One corner of my mind registered the stares from the other students, but I was preoccupied by what she'd said to Jessica. How could she possibly doubt my feelings for her now?

She grew increasingly uncomfortable as we waited in line, nervously fiddling with the zipper of her jacket, and turning away every time her glance met mine.

"What are you doing?" she demanded when I took a tray and started filling it. "You're not getting all that for me?"

I shook my head, stepping forward to pay for it. "Half is for me, of course."

The table we'd shared the other day was already occupied by a group of seniors. Ignoring them, I went to the other end and pulled a seat out for her.

"Take whatever you want." I pushed the tray toward her as I sat down.

She took a plate holding a slice of pizza and set it in front of her, poking at it a couple of times, but never taking a bite. I rolled an apple under my palm for a few moments, until I could take it no more.

"So, the waitress was pretty, was she?" I asked casually. I could not for the life of me remember what she looked like with Bella sitting right in front of me.

"You really didn't notice?" She raised an eyebrow.

"No. I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind."

"Poor girl," she scoffed, but I wouldn't be distracted.

"Something you said to Jessica . . . well, it bothers me." I couldn't hide my insecurity.

"I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdroppers."

"I warned you I'd be listening."

"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."

"You did," I agreed, but it still didn't matter. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking―everything. I just wish . . . that you wouldn't be thinking some things."

She scowled at me. "That's quite a distinction."

"But that's not really the point at the moment," I said, leaning towards her, earnestly. She leaned forward too, cupping her right hand around her neck.

"Then what is?"

"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" I asked softly, leaning closer, staring intently into her eyes. She could edit her words, but her eyes told me everything.

She held her breath and then looked away. "You're doing it again," she murmured.

"What?"

"Dazzling me."

"Oh." I frowned; I hadn't meant to.

"It's not your fault," she sighed. "You can't help it."

She was trying to distract me again but I wouldn't allow it. "Are you going to answer the question?" I demanded.

Her gaze fell. "Yes," she whispered.

"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" I asked, irritated.

"Yes, I really think that," she said, keeping her eyes on the faux wood pattern printed on the laminate.

"You're wrong, you know." I tried to make my voice compelling, willing her to believe the truth.

She looked up and held my gaze. "You can't know that," she disagreed in a whisper.

"What makes you think so?"

The excruciating silence enveloped us once more. She dropped her hand to the table, pressing her palms together, folding her fingers, twisting the ring on her left hand. I could feel the heat of her blush across the table.

The seniors at the other end of the table were making no attempt to hide their blatant eavesdropping. I didn't care at all, but she was obviously becoming uncomfortable. I glared at them for her sake, but still she did not speak.

Then I had an idea. "Shall we find another table elsewhere―perhaps something more private?"

She exhaled, relieved. "I could use some fresh air."

She could move quickly when she wanted to. We were already several paces away from the table before the lunchroom supervisor noticed, and called out.

"Ahem, Mr. Cullen, don't forget to bus your tray."

I froze, and she did too. I'd been so wrapped up in our conversation that I hadn't even noticed him descending. _How bloody inconvenient . . . _A few snickers drifted from tables nearby.

Not wanting to make a scene, I indicated that I'd catch her up. Then I returned to collect my lunch tray. Remembering that she hadn't eaten anything, I kept the apple before disposing of what was left, and deliberately, very loudly, re-stacking it.

As I passed my family's table on the way out, I heard one of my brothers imitate the sound of a whip cracking. He'd be laughing out the other side of his face this evening.

She hadn't gotten very far. I followed her out the building at human pace, watching her make her way across the field to the same picnic bench where she'd done her homework the other morning. I could have caught up to her in a nanosecond, and no one would have noticed, but I hung behind. I enjoyed watching her walk.

"How's this?" she asked with a shy smile. Our first little in-joke.

We were quite alone. The few other students who'd ventured outdoors on this cold, dank afternoon were content to hang around the quadrangle.

"Just perfect," I replied, smiling too, and spreading my jacket on the damp bench so we could sit on it. Her scent hung in the moist air, tantalizing me. I handed her the apple.

"Thanks." She took a bite, turning the fruit in her hands as she chewed. Then she arched an eyebrow. "I'm curious: what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"

"You're always curious," I said, grimacing. _And you know what happened to the curious cat, don't you? _But I could rise to a dare as well as anyone. I took the apple from her and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewing quickly, and swallowed the pulpy mass. She watched, amazed.

"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" I asked, disdainfully, handing it back.

"I did once . . . " she admitted, wrinkling her nose. "It wasn't so bad."

I laughed. "Why am I not surprised?" But I would tolerate no further attempts at avoidance. "You still haven't answered my question," I reminded her gently. "Why do you think that you care more for me than I do for you?"

She blushed again, tempting me to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, just to see if the blush had reached the tip this time.

"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes . . . " she hesitated. "I can't be sure―_I_ don't know how to read minds―but sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else."

Was I really that transparent? "Perceptive," I whispered. "That's exactly why you're wrong, though," I began, and then stopped, realizing I'd missed something. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?"

"Well, look at me," she said, unnecessarily, for I could never stop looking at her. "I'm absolutely ordinary―well, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and the crippling lack of coordination. And look at you." Inadvertently, I looked into my lap, though that was not her implication. She felt the need to explain herself further. "I mean, if I didn't know better, I'd say that someone was paying you to talk to me right now."

I still didn't follow and it must have been obvious.

"Boys like you"—she waved a hand in the air, as if to lump me in with all the other boys—"don't talk to girls like me."

"I don't talk to anybody," I muttered. Until recently, this had been more or less true. But I understood what she meant now―and I was amazed she could hold herself in such low regard. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. You didn't hear what every human male in this school was thinking on your first day."

She shook her head. "I don't believe it . . . " Truly, she did seem astonished.

"Trust me on this," I assured, "you are the very opposite of ordinary."

"But I'm not saying goodbye," she quickly pointed out.

"Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it"—and I shook my head to erase the memory of last night, when I thought I'd have to give her up—"if leaving is the right thing to do, then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe."

She glared at me. "And you don't think I'd do the same?"

"You'd never have to make the choice." But it hurt me too much to speak of leaving. I winked, trying to lighten the mood. "Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."

"No one has tried to do away with me today," she said haughtily.

"Yet," I amended.

"Yet," she agreed, with a sigh.

"I have another question for you," I tried to be casual though the implications of what I was about to ask were anything but.

"Yes?" She was eager.

"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?"

She scowled at me. "You know, I haven't forgiven you for the Tyler thing yet. It's your fault that he's deluded himself into thinking I'm going to prom with him."

"Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without me―I just really wanted to watch your face." I chuckled at the memory, not at all remorseful. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned me down?"

"Probably not," she admitted, and that made me happy. But then she added. "I would've cancelled later though―faked an illness or a sprained ankle."

"Why would you do that?"

She shook her head sadly. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you'd understand."

"I've heard the rumours," I confessed. But I didn't believe them.

Her cheeks reddened once more. "I can't dance," she mumbled.

"That wouldn't be a problem." I was certain of that. "It's all in the leading." Before she could object, I added, "But you never told me―are you resolved on going to Seattle, or do you mind if we do something different?"

"I'm open to alternatives." She was excited again. "But I do have a favour to ask."

Her habit of demanding conditions was starting to wear on me. "What?"

"Can I drive?"

"Why?" Travelling in that rolling deathtrap negated any attempt to keep her safe right from the start.

"Well, mostly because when I told my dad I was going to Seattle, he asked if I was going alone—and at the time, I was. If I left my truck at home on Saturday, he'd think I wasn't being honest with him." She was right. He already suspected she was meeting someone in Seattle.

She twisted her ring back and forth a couple of times before adding, "And also, because your driving frightens me."

I rolled my eyes. "Of all the things about me that could frighten you, you worry about my driving." But she was still under eighteen and living under her father's roof. He had a right to know what she'd be up to.

"Won't you want to tell your father that you're spending the day with me?"

I should tell my family where we'd be going too, just in case something happened. I found myself swallowing loudly, hoping she didn't notice.

"Less is always more with him. Where are we going, anyway?"

"The weather will be nice, so I'll be staying out of the public eye . . . and you can stay with me, if you'd like to."

"And you'll show me what you meant, about the sun?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Yes." Her enthusiasm made me smile. "But if you don't want to be . . . alone with me, I'd still rather you didn't go to Seattle by yourself. I shudder to think of the trouble you could find in a city that size."

"Phoenix is three times bigger than Seattle―just in population," she scoffed. "In physical size-"

"But apparently," I interrupted, "your number wasn't up in Phoenix. So I'd rather you stayed near me." Were it possible I'd never leave her side again, despite the discomfort her bloodscent provoked.

"As it happens, I don't mind being alone with you."

"I've noticed," I sighed. She was such a strange creature. "You should tell your dad, though."

"Why in the world would I do that?"

Her complete lack of self-preservation suddenly made me furious. "To give me some small incentive to bring you back," I growled, and finally, finally I saw a trace of fear in her eyes. Perhaps she'd heed my warning at last.

She seemed to ponder my words for a moment, but after another her expressive face became cunning. "I think I'll take my chances," she decided.

_Oh, for the love of all that's holy . . . !_ Glaring into the dark woods verging the field, I tried to exhale my frustration away.

An anxious silence grew between us until she asked, timidly, "Can we talk about something else?"

"What do you want to talk about?" I was still annoyed.

She glanced around furtively, but there was no one nearby to hear. "Why do you hunt animals instead of people?"

It felt wrong to discuss my feeding habits with _her_, of all people, yet she gazed at me, expectantly. I knew the fiend lurking behind that attractive mask reflected in her irises, and I shrank from it. She would too; if she only knew how I struggled, she would not be so quick with her trust.

"I don't _want_ to be a monster," I replied, the barely suppressed self-loathing making my voice rough and low.

"But animals aren't enough?"

How could they be? How could sacks of tasteless fluid compare to her, the vessel bearing nectar from Heaven? She jumped at my snort of bitter laughter; what did she see when she looked into my eyes now? Swallowing the pain, I attempted to redirect the conversation. "Think of the blandest diet imaginable," I began.

She nodded. "My mom went on the cabbage diet once."

I couldn't help smiling. That wasn't quite what I'd meant, but she was on the right track. "I can't be sure of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the thirst, but it keeps us strong enough to resist . . . most of the time." I gave her a significant look. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now?" she asked, compassionately. She―who should have long ago been my victim―she pitied_ me!_

For some time, the ever-present, agonizing burn in my throat had been waging war with a desire to cradle her face between my hands and kiss her. I didn't know which impulse would win, and it made me afraid. I was very glad that the bell would soon ring.

"Yes," I sighed, the venom a bitter draught in my throat.

She raised her hand as if to smooth my brow, much the way my mother always did, making me flinch―I didn't deserve her pity. She placed it slowly back in her lap.

"You're not hungry now, though." She was confident about that.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I've noticed that people―men in particular―are crabbier when they're hungry."

I chuckled. "You are observant, aren't you?"

But I'd also been thinking about the Quileutes, and what they claimed to know of other, transient vampires. I felt it prudent to warn her.

"Will you promise me something?" I asked.

"Yes," she responded immediately and without condition, much to my pleasure.

I stared into the forest once more, and her gaze followed mine. "Don't go into the woods alone."

"Why?"

How could I make her take my warning seriously without alarming her? "I'm not always the most dangerous thing out there. Let's just leave it at that."

She gave a little shudder. "Whatever you say," she whispered, continuing to stare into the gloom for a while longer.

Then she shook herself, glancing quickly at her watch. "We're going to be late."

I was on my feet swiftly, guiding her by the elbow to help her up. "No, we're not," I contradicted with a smile.

She wore my jacket as we returned to the school, walking so close together that our hands could not help brushing against one another. As it had last night, the heat of her skin elicited a luscious burn. And like last night, she never once flinched from my icy touch.


	15. Awake

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Thanks to my awesome beta, Lezlee, who edited this chapter during the end of term chaos of assignments and exams. You are THE BEST, girl!**

* * *

**A/N:**  
**_Microbe Invasion_ is an actual educational video. **Watch the trailer: youtube watch?v = smvObHW_7Oc

**Edward's guitar is a Les Paul Custom, and it really is a beauty. I've posted a picture of it here: **

i830 . photobucket albums / zz224 / Woodlily _ 2010 / History / Gibson Les Paul Custom . jpg

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**  
Come Alive – Foo Fighters youtube watch?v = UjeKvtzJgyo&feature=fvst  
Voodoo Child (Slight Return) –The Jimi Hendrix Experience – youtube watch?v = zZNEdiLzyGg Every axe-wielding teenage boy drives his family mad learning to play this song. Trust me; I know... ;-)

* * *

**AWAKE**

"Dude, did you _see_ those two at lunch?"

"I heard they were making out in the woods."

"Who told you that?"

The science wing echoed with whispers trailing in our wake, whispers that had no business following a Cullen around. I heard them, but paid little heed, distracted as I was — buffered — by the acute awareness of Bella's presence beside me. An electric current now seemed to generate in that space between our bodies, one that strengthened as our proximity narrowed, and my pace matched hers.

That I wanted — no, _needed_ her to be there was imperative. But it was always a double-edged sword with her; there was death on the one side, desire on the other, and both edges beckoned with a disturbing sensuality.

Even there, in the hallway, I was torn between spiriting her back into the woods to devour her and pulling her into my arms, right in front of everyone — taking the soft pout of her lower lip between my own, and pushing my tongue into her mouth.

_Such lascivious thoughts!_ They made me no better than those vile men in Port Angeles. My human upbringing had taught me that a gentleman would wait for what he most desired, and then ask permission before taking the smallest liberty. He would not gorge himself. On the other hand, those deeply entrenched values were remnants of a life I barely remembered, and they warred violently against the protective, possessive instinct that threatened to break my composure.

After what happened last night, I could barely tolerate letting her out of my sight. In fact, I wanted to snap the neck of every human male who dared look at her, a difficult impulse to control with two-dozen pairs of curious eyes watching us take our seats at the back of the lab. The indiscreet thoughts hiding behind those eyes did nothing to help me curb it.

_I wonder how far she let him . . . ? Nah, she's not like that, is she?_

_Is that a hickey?_

_What a dick. Girls only like him because he's rich. I thought Bella was smarter than that . . . _

To use the vernacular, Mike Newton was 'spewing'. He purposely let his pen drop so he could turn and look at us. Understanding the new closeness between us, his mouth pressed into a grim line. As he faced front again there was defeat in his eyes.

Mr. Banner chose that moment to back into the room, lugging an ancient, heavy TV/VCR combo on a frame with squeaky wheels. There was a perceptible lift in the mood of the room as, without a word, he shut the door, dimmed the lights, and hit play.

What followed was, in its own way, every bit as unbearable as that first Biology class I'd spent sitting next to her. Without a doubt, it was the most exquisite, most excruciating hour of my existence.

_Microbe Invasion!_ The title flashed on the screen in an oozy green script, and I felt the buoyant spirit of the room nose dive. As the music faded, the narrator, an earnest, bespectacled man in a dun sweater, addressed the camera.

"We have emerged, as a species, on a planet that's predominated by microbes," he began.

And I found myself tumbling into that strange vortex of electricity, drowning in her marvelous subtle perfume. Down, down, down I fell. Resistance was futile; I could only breathe the lifeline of my favourite narcotic in and out, praying it would return me to the surface. I knew I had to get closer to it.

But it was so dangerous! A sudden move from her — a sneeze, an unexpected shift in position — and I could lose control. I knew this: my logical mind knew this, yet my chair moved perversely, infinitesimally closer to hers of its own accord. With each passing second, I found myself drawing nearer still, until we were almost touching. I could feel the heat emanating from her body. Was she generating that electric current too? I needed to find out.

It became very difficult to prevent my fingers from reaching towards the perfect ivory skin of her cheek. If only I could touch it just once, I'd know. Would she flinch from me?

Please Do Not Touch warned the sign beside the stuffed armadillo on the windowsill. _Please do not touch_, my conscience sternly agreed, and my obedient arms folded themselves over my traitorous fingers, vainly attempting to keep them still.

I sat in the flickering darkness, hugging my long limbs to myself — gangly, scarecrow limbs that never did fill out. Scarecrow's limbs and spider's fingers: who would welcome their touch?

No, I would not touch her, despite the intense craving. I would not touch, but I could look; and a quick glance revealed that her posture mirrored my own. Our eyes met at that moment, and her shy grin was conspiratorial. She did feel it. She must; she'd trapped her fingers under crossed arms, just like I had. What would happen if she let them wander?

Would this torture _never end?_ I couldn't concentrate on that dreadful film, so I attempted to direct my attention elsewhere. It was a mistake to choose her jugular notch. Her tantalizing scent pooled there, and I soon became entranced by the minute contractions and expansions of her clavicle bones.

Then of course, I imagined how it would feel to touch the soft skin around _that _place. How could I not? My thumb would fit in the hollow, just so. Could I make myself be good — and just let it rest there, feeling the pulse of the vein beneath, nothing more? No. I knew at once that would be too much.

The jugular notch . . . the _suprasternal_ notch: there had to be a better name for it. For _fossa jugularis sternaris_ was cold and clinical, and not poetic at all.

A pox on poetry! It was poetry that caused my thoughts to run this dangerous path in the first place. I should not have read those love sonnets this morning.

Science would save me. What could it tell me about that anatomical feature? During medical school I'd learned that it was one of over three hundred pressure points in the human body. A quick strike in and down, from the middle and index fingers, would be all it took to suppress the breath. And a kiss? What would that do . . . ?

I was done for; I knew it. I wouldn't make it to the end of the hour without embarrassing myself and Bella, right in front of my classmates. There was no hope for me.

I'd surrendered my will when, thankfully, once again, the clichéd bell saved me. The film had run overtime. We both remained absolutely still while Mr. Banner attempted to make himself heard over the noisy exodus.

"All right, people: read pages two-ninety-seven to three-oh-four tonight, and answer the questions on page three-oh-five. We'll finish up the film tomorrow, and yes, there will be questions about it on the next test, so you'd better've been taking notes."

I didn't think my limbs would support me when I stood. It felt like the bones had gone missing.

"That was interesting," I managed to whisper, and she looked up at me from underneath her eyelashes.

"Curiouser, and curiouser," she agreed with a shy smile. She was so endearingly odd.

The classroom emptied rapidly; only Banner remained behind, trying to extricate the recalcitrant videotape from of the mouth of the VCR.

"Shall we?" I offered, finding my feet at last. She rose with a sigh, seeming as wobbly as I was.

The electricity between us persisted while I accompanied her to Gym, but the accompanying silence helped me regain some composure at least. On the other hand, the closer we drew to the gymnasium, the more hunched her posture became; and the more pronounced the furrow between her brows grew.

And Mike Newton followed us, glowering, feeling usurped. I remembered another afternoon, not so many weeks ago, when I'd followed him and Bella down this same hallway. I'd been so arrogant then . . . and so afraid of myself around her.

I still was, but as we stopped outside the girls' changing rooms, I could bear it no longer. It was wrong and inexcusably covetous to want this, but I couldn't stop myself. Slowly, tentatively, I reached for her.

Instinct should have bid her to flee, but she seemed mesmerized. And as my fingers brushed the searing skin of her cheek, her hand rose to meet mine ― not to stop it, but to keep it in place. Just for a moment, we were fire and ice, elemental. Together alone.

"What's happening?" she murmured.

I had no words. My dead heart rose in my chest, choking me, and I could only drop my hand and walk away.

I passed Mike as I returned down the corridor. The unspoken warning behind his glare was unmistakable, and he was right of course: I was no good for her.

* * *

"All right, spill it, Bella." Jessica, eager to resume her inquisition, spun around with her hands on her hips. "Did he kiss you at lunch?"

It was a disconcerting sensation watching the room rotate from another's point of view. Caught off guard, I swayed a little — not enough to attract the attention of the humans in the hallway around me, but enough that I had to concentrate to right myself.

She tapped her toes impatiently, determined to receive a satisfactory answer this time.

And through her eyes I saw Bella, sitting on the bench to her right, already wearing her shorts, socks, and running shoes, pulling a tight t-shirt down over her head. I tried to shut off my vision, but I couldn't stop listening.

_Look away!_ I begged Jessica, but she wouldn't.

"Well?" She wore the same expression Emmett did when he'd cornered his prey.

"No," Bella mumbled, her voice muffled by the material. "It's not like that." Was that disappointment I heard in her voice? I couldn't be sure.

Jessica was immediately intrigued. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

She shrugged, glancing down and away — and not only was her face flushed; her ears, her throat, and all of the skin past the clavicle bones was . . .

I should not have looked.

But, as she struggled into the t-shirt, I raised my eyes to Jessica's line of sight and I couldn't help myself. I looked; I saw the swell of her chest beneath that simple white bra and, God help me, I wanted her to take it off. I wanted to _be_ the one who took it off.

I gasped, losing all grip on the books in my hands. They spilled to the floor just as I walked through the classroom door.

"Something wrong, Edward?" Mrs. Goff turned at the noise, pursing her lips disapprovingly.

"No," I muttered, bending to retrieve the contents of one of the binders, holding the loose foolscap sheets in front of me awkwardly. For a second or two, I didn't know what to do.

"Don't drop the soap, freak," called a voice from the back row.

"Fag," another snickered as I recovered and stalked to my desk. If I, too, could have turned red in the face, I'm sure that I would have.

_I don't care if he's gay, he is_ fine_!_ Ashley Dowling mused, momentarily forgetting her infatuation with Mike Newton to watch me walk past.

So that old rumour was circulating again, was it? So be it. Maybe it was a good thing that not everyone had heard about what Bella and I had gotten up to over the lunch hour.

_Neither confirm, nor deny, Cullen. Neither confirm, nor deny._

I threw my books open on the desk, raking my hand through my hair miserably. Now I could add lechery to my long list of sins. Was there no end to my depravity?

But what had she meant when she'd said, "It's not like that"? Did she think that I hadn't wanted to kiss her? Is that why she'd sounded disappointed?

I _had_ wanted to kiss her. That was a first for me. I'd never kissed anyone, never even wanted to before. The only time I'd come close, the experience had been awkward and ultimately . . . _expensive_.

It was possible for a vampire to kiss a human; I knew this . . . it was possible to kiss, and more. It was _possible_, but was it safe? What if I bit her?

"Do you think Saturday?" Jessica persisted as they walked into the gym.

"I really doubt it," she sighed.

It was absolutely maddening! Every time I was sure I'd begun to figure her out, the next words out of her mouth dashed my assumptions entirely. How was I supposed to know what she wanted when I couldn't read her mind?

But I was still curious about her aversion to Gym. Why did she seem to dread it so? Surely she couldn't be as uncoordinated as she claimed?

" . . . after a long campaign, Grant defeated five Confederate armies and seized Vicksburg, giving his army control of the Mississippi River, splitting the Confederacy . . . "

Jasper would be seething if he were here right now. He still hadn't forgiven Mrs. Goff for giving him less than perfect marks on his Civil War research project last year.

"Historical embellishments, indeed!" he'd scoffed, throwing it to the ground in derision, and we'd heard about it for weeks afterwards.

Reasoning that anything was better than suffering through my teacher's inept attempt retelling of Grant's ascent to the presidency, and certain that I would not see anything that I shouldn't, I continued watching Bella through the eyes of her classmates.

Although the boys and girls took Gym at the same time, their lessons were generally segregated, and today was no different. Volleyball courts were set up across the width of the gym at one end, at the other stood the portable basketball nets.

"Okay, ladies and gents!" bawled Coach Clapp. "Ten laps' warm up. Let's go, let's go!" He whirled his arm like a windmill, as if it were capable of generating enthusiasm in the apathetic group.

"Come on girls, hop to it!" he exhorted the stragglers — Bella among them.

_Ugh, I hate getting all sweaty_, Jenny Trigg moaned. _So gross_.

_How come all gym teachers are sadists?_ Jessica wondered, and she glanced at Bella, shuffling along beside her, staring morosely at her feet. I wondered why Jessica suddenly seemed apprehensive.

Following the warm-up, the sexes were divided and the boys went to the other side of the gym to play basketball under the supervision of Mr. Barrie, the student–teacher shadowing Coach Clapp. A former college football player, he'd never become the star he'd shown promise to be. Teaching was his fall-back career.

Coach Clapp instructed the girls to line up on one side of the volleyball nets — reminding me of the 'firing squad' analogy I'd thought of in the past — and then picked four of them to cross to the other side.

Bella approached him hesitantly. "Um . . . Coach?" she began, faltering. "I'm not really s'posed to play . . ."

"Got a doctor's note, Bella?" he asked, without the slightest trace of sympathy. He didn't even look at her.

"Oh. Er . . ." She shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts, and there were a couple of snickers as he jerked his thumb backwards, indicating she should return to the lineup.

_Suck it up, sweetheart_, he thought.

One by one, the four girls on his side of the net picked their team members — an exercise that was neither fair nor democratic. By the time each had populated the ranks with her best friends, there weren't many left to choose from. The rest were picked in order of decreasing athletic prowess.

And then, there were only two.

_Please, not Bella, please, not Bella_, Jessica begged.

"I'll take June," the captain of her team decided.

_Yes!_ June crossed to the other side of the net, relieved she'd not been picked last.

Pursing her lips, the captain of the next team reluctantly waved Bella over.

They were briefed on the rules, and then put through various practice drills. Bella's serve was surprisingly powerful, though highly erratic, more often hitting the rafters or going out of bounds than stymieing the opposition. When the positions rotated, and she was in front of the net, she'd cower from the approaching ball, and could not manage to bump it back over.

_Absolutely hopeless_, thought one of her team-mates, who'd stepped in front of her to spike the ball herself, rather than risk losing the point. Coach blew his whistle anyway.

_Oh, for God's sake . . ._ "Bella, just stay there, okay?" the captain finally told her, after she'd failed to pass the ball yet again.

And so it continued. The more mistakes poor Bella made, the more inept her performance became.

"I'm sorry!"

I watched her run to the other end of the gym and collect the ball after one of her serves managed to smack Mike Newton in the back of the head.

"I asked Coach not to let me play," she explained, wringing her hands. She looked close to tears.

"Hey, uh . . . don't worry about it," he replied, dazed, and rubbing the nape of his neck. ". . . Happens to everyone."

"Wow, she's got some serve, huh?" Jessica had run over too, ostensibly out of concern, but more from worry that Bella might monopolize her boyfriend's attention before she was able to get to him.

"Back in the game, ladies," Coach yelled. "You can socialize after class."

_Sieg heil_. Jessica rolled her eyes.

The worst part to watch was when Bella took a ball directly in the face. I don't believe that the attack was deliberate, but the force of the blow knocked her to the ground. None of her teammates attempted to help her up; in fact, one or two openly laughed.

"You suck, Bella," Lauren informed her as their team went down in defeat for the second game in a row. _What a loser_ . . . and she walked away, shaking her head.

I'd heard that there are few creatures on earth that were more cruel than teenage girls, and now I'd seen the old adage proved correct. Was it always like this? I felt sorry for her.

* * *

"So." Mike attempted to be casual as he caught up with her, though he couldn't hide the jealousy.

They were in the short corridor between the changing rooms, and I was waiting around the corner at the other end, listening.

"So what?" Bella sounded wary.

"You and Cullen, huh?" He was petulant.

"That's none of your business, Mike," she warned.

"I don't like it," he muttered anyway.

"You don't have to," she snapped as they came through the doorway together. Newton saw me, scowled, and immediately turned tail, but she approached without hesitation, all trace of irritation suddenly gone.

"Hi," she breathed, giving me a huge smile.

"Hello," I replied. She was so pretty; just looking at her made me happy. I peered a little closer; her poor nose still bore faint evidence of its impact with the volleyball.

"How was Gym?" I asked, and her face crumpled a little.

"Fine," she lied.

_. . . looks like he wants to eat her alive…_

"What?" she demanded, noticing my gaze had abruptly shifted over her shoulder. She turned in time to see Mike's back as he walked away, then looked at me quizzically.

"Newton's getting on my nerves," I said tersely.

"You weren't listening again?" she asked. "What did you hear?" she demanded when I shrugged.

"How's your nose?" I replied, intending to distract her.

Instead she was appalled. "You were _watching_!" she gasped.

"You're the one who mentioned that I'd never seen you in Gym – I was curious." For some reason, I felt defensive.

"Jerk!" she hissed, spinning on her heel, throwing open the door, and stalking out into the rain.

She sloshed across the parking lot, kicking at puddles as she went. I had no trouble keeping up with her, but it was evident she wasn't heading towards my car. Good Lord, what had I done?

"Where are you going?" I called ― pointlessly, because she was obviously headed towards the main road.

She threw the hood of her jacket over her head and walked faster, ignoring me.

I'd insulted her. Not only was I a letch, I was a terrible, terrible cad.

"Bella?"

"I'm going home," she huffed, and I heard her sniff. Was she crying?

"But, it's raining," I protested lamely.

"It's _always_ raining!" she shouted.

I stepped swiftly in front of her, blocking her path. "Bella, you can't walk home in this. Please let me drive you."

She looked up at me – hurt, angry, and yes, there were definitely tears in her eyes. She sniffed again, and after a protracted moment, nodded and turned around. We walked in fraught silence back to my car.

A crowd of people surrounded Rosalie's convertible once more, none of whom even looked up as I slid between them to open my door. Bella climbed quickly into the passenger side, also unnoticed.

"Are you still angry?" I asked tentatively, once I'd maneuvered carefully around the car enthusiasts.

"Definitely," she replied, crossing her arms in front of her.

I sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?"

"Maybe . . . if you mean it. _And _if you promise not to do it again," she insisted.

"Then I'm very sorry I upset you." I meant it with every fibre of my being; I willed her to believe me. But I hadn't promised not to do it again.

After a few moments, she seemed to relent. She reached into a pocket and found a Kleenex.

"That was so humiliating," she sighed, blowing her nose. "I was stupid to think that things might be different here – that the girls might be nicer – but it's just the same as it was back in Phoenix. I still suck, and they still hate me for it."

"They don't hate you," I began, but then hesitated. I could tell her a few things about Lauren – would they make her despise or pity her? In the end, I knew it would make no difference.

"Those girls are inconsequential," I finally said. It was true; none of them could ever hold a candle to her. "In a few years, you won't even think about them. Trust me."

She chuckled, and I was relieved to see her smile return. "You sound like my dad," she teased, but then her gaze became curious once more. "How old are you, anyway?" she asked.

I was definitely not ready to tell her that. Amongst other things, I was afraid it might upset her.

"Old enough to know that what goes around, comes around," I finally said, receiving a round of eye-rolling for my trouble.

"Better?" I asked, and she nodded. "Then can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Are you still set on driving this Saturday?"

"Yes." She frowned. "Why?"

"It's just that, my vehicle's so much faster, and it's more reliable-"

"My vehicle's plenty reliable," she interrupted, crossing her arms stubbornly again.

We had pulled into her father's driveway and parked behind the wretched thing by that point. I pictured it on the highway, struggling to reach the speed limit. The vibrations from the engine alone would probably tear the body apart.

"You've never driven it much out of Forks, have you?" I saw it overheating, or developing a flat.

"No," she admitted, looking a little worried. "Where were you planning on going, anyway?"

"Just into the mountains – it's a place I like to go when the weather's nice." I, too, felt a sudden twinge of worry, though not for the same reasons as she, I guessed.

"My truck can make it into the mountains," she assured me, and it was my turn to roll my eyes. "What? I don't always need rescuing, you know. I can, like, change a tire."

_Maybe I like rescuing you_, I found myself thinking. And I could see that I wasn't going to win this particular battle.

"Fine then. We'll take your truck," I acquiesced. "I'll be on your doorstep, bright and early Saturday morning."

"Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if there's an unexplained Volvo in the driveway," she pointed out.

I smirked. "I've no intention of bringing my car."

"How –"

"Don't worry about it," I interrupted. "I'll be there. No car."

But she still looked perturbed. "I'll be there; I promise," I assured her.

We sat in silence for a while, watching the raindrops pour down the windshield. She seemed in no hurry go into the house.

"What are you doing tonight?" she finally asked.

"I don't know." I had no plans beyond watching her sleep. "I might go hunting."

"With your brother? Like you did at that Goat Rocks place?"

"No. I'll probably go on my own."

"Is that something I'll get to see on Saturday, too?"

"Absolutely not!" I was shocked.

"Why?" she demanded. "Too scary for me?"

"If that were it, I'd take you out and show you right now. You could use a good dose of fear."

"Hmph." Her response seemed stubborn and disbelieving, but her wide eyes betrayed how my vehement reaction had unnerved her.

"Did I frighten you?" I asked, trying to modulate my voice. I was annoyed to hear that it sounded almost hopeful.

"No," she replied, though I knew she was lying again.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," I persisted, mollifying.

"You didn't. Well . . . maybe you did. A little bit."

"It was just that the very thought of you being there . . . during the hunt . . ." and I was suddenly at a loss for words.

"That would be bad?" she prompted.

My teeth came together with an audible click. "Extremely."

"Because . . .?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "When we hunt"- again, it felt ludicrous to be explaining this to _her_ -"we give ourselves over to our senses, govern less with our minds . . . especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control in that way . . ." The prospect was unthinkable.

"I see," she whispered, and the way she looked at me made me wonder if maybe she really did.

She continued to hold my gaze, and the silence deepened – beginning to change. Once more, I felt the same prickling electricity that had charged the atmosphere between us this afternoon.

I thought about kissing her, but the talk of hunting brought other images to my mind unbidden. The air conditioning swirled her mouthwatering scent around the car . . . and I knew that it would be too dangerous to try.

She drew in a jagged breath, breaking the silence; I took a deep breath too.

"Bella, I think you should go inside now," I told her, my voice rough and unsteady.

Surprisingly, she obeyed, and I was grateful for the cold draft that burst into the car as she got out. It cleared my head. As they had been last night, her movements were slow and deliberate, like a tipsy person trying very hard to appear sober. I wondered what she was thinking. Then something else occurred to me, something that made me smile.

"Oh, Bella?" I called casually, rolling down the window.

"Yes?" She was still unsteady; her whole body turned at the sound of my voice.

"Tomorrow, it's my turn," I informed her.

"Your turn to what?"

"To ask the questions," I said, giving her a wink.

The grin on my face melted as I drove around the corner. Though I was ecstatic at the new understanding that she and I seemed to have reached, it left me with new worries that I couldn't have previously anticipated.

All at once, everything about my life seemed both a hundred times better, and a hundred times worse.

* * *

"Goddamn it, die, you motherfucker!"

"Language," Esme scolded, though she didn't look up from her task at the kitchen island.

"Sorry," Emmett muttered, not looking away from the video game either. He growled in dismay as another pair of snipers leaped over a bunker and joined the one that was already spraying his avatar with bullets.

_Son of a bitch! __Thought I got 'em all_.

The escalating noise caused Esme to narrow her eyes disapprovingly, but she continued sorting groceries.

Once a week, for the sake of appearances, she bought enough provisions to feed a family of seven, and today had been no exception. Tomorrow, she would drive to either Port Angeles or Olympia and donate all of it to the local food bank.

Only once had anyone ever commented on the large amount of canned goods in her trolley, and she'd assured the busybody — Jessica Stanley's mother, no less — that, given all the food allergies that plagued her children, it was the cheapest and safest way to feed us.

"Bah!" Emmett threw down the game control in disgust. "I was this close to blasting level forty-six."

"Better luck next time," she wished him as he wandered off, his short attention span immediately occupied elsewhere.

_Where's my Rose?_ he wondered. "Rosie!" he bellowed, and from the hot tub in their ensuite, there came an answering giggle.

Esme pursed her lips and began calculating the price of a bathroom refit.

This was my family at half past midnight. From my room on the top floor, I watched them pass the wee hours.

I saw Alice wander into Jasper's study, with a Scrabble board under her arm. I saw him glance apprehensively at her and then pretend to be engrossed with the massive Milton tome in his hands.

"Please?" she begged.

I felt sorry for my sister. Nobody liked to play games with me, either. I was only ever asked to participate in competitions that called for speed and stamina — or to accompany my family members on trips to gambling establishments where my card counting talents were useful.

"Oh, Alice, no." Jasper shook his head, feeling cornered and a little embarrassed.

"Yes," she insisted, grinning like a little shark, and rapidly clearing off the books and papers lying on the coffee table.

Sighing, he placed his book on the side table and folded his hands together atop his knees, like a penitent.

"I promise I won't look," she assured him.

"Scout's honour?"

"Cross my heart."

He motioned for her to continue. She'd laid out the board, the dividers, and nearly all the tiles before stopping abruptly, scowling. With a frustrated little growl, she repacked all the pieces as rapidly as she'd set them out.

Resigned, Jasper reached for his book once, only to recoil as she wagged her finger in his face.

"I still don't think that 'ort' is a word," she said.

_Yes, it is_, I thought. _Look it up_.

"But I haven't. . ." he objected, then sighed again. "You promised you wouldn't look."

"It's not like I can turn it off!" And she walked away, grumbling to herself.

_Women_, he complained, and I couldn't help but feel sympathy. I was beginning to realize that they were impossible creatures.

There was an enormous splash in the ensuite below, and the walls of the house shook slightly from the impact of whatever was going on down there. I shuddered, trying very hard to give Emmett and Rosalie what privacy I could, but it was difficult. They'd always been quite shameless. I very much looked forward to the summer, when they planned to get married and move out on their own again. Esme was already drafting plans for their new home.

Fingering some jazz chords, I gazed down at the guitar cradled in my arms. It was brand new and beautiful, and I loved it. It was nearly, but not quite, identical to the guitar that met its unfortunate end on the day Bella nearly met hers ― when she was almost hit by Tyler's van.

Bereft, I glanced around; some of the other casualties of that night of wanton destruction had been irreplaceable. I had learned my lesson though; I would never, ever lose my temper like that again.

I'd been transcribing her lullaby to guitar tablature, and the results had been interesting, though not entirely successful. Lullabies were meant to be soft, and sweet — more suited to the acoustic guitar, I supposed. Still, this beauty really did sound marvelous. I began to put it through its paces.

_Agh, not scales! _I saw Alice throw her hands over her ears.

_You'll never be Hendrix, man_, Jasper predicted grimly. _You're just too damn white_.

I smirked. I'd come to the conclusion that my brother was tone deaf. And he knew nothing about music anyway: Hendrix had played a Stratocaster, not a Gibson. The two sounded markedly different. I played on, my fingers flying over the frets until they were a blur.

_Perhaps a little less volume, Edward?_ Carlisle requested.

I didn't understand my family's objection to my guitar playing. I was becoming proficient, and it wasn't like it kept them up at night. Still, for the sake of peace, I plugged the headphones into the amp.

But perhaps it was time to convert one of the sheds into a studio. My room _was_ becoming rather crowded. The instruments were starting to compete for space with the CDs, books, and journals, not to mention the amplifiers and recording paraphernalia, which Esme had insisted I remove from the great room. She'd become tired of dusting it all, complaining that it spoiled the esthetic of the room.

How different my cluttered room was to Bella's sparse little room in her father's house. She'd be fast asleep by now. I could picture her, lying in bed, with her hair fanned out on the pillow. Breathing in and out . . .

Shaking myself, I played a few soft chords from her lullaby once more, and I began to wonder what kind of music she liked. I had some inkling — she'd expressed a preference for Debussy once — and I'd heard her singing along to that song with her friends in the car last night.

Similarly, I had a notion of the type of literature she preferred. At least I thought I did, but maybe the books on the shelves of her room in Forks didn't represent the library she'd left behind in Phoenix. There: that was pure conjecture once again. I'd assumed she'd left a library of books behind on the basis of one or two random lines she'd quoted at me. I had no business making assumptions about her literary tastes.

On the other hand, I knew what food she liked to eat in the school cafeteria. I knew that she didn't seem able to eat when she was upset or anxious . . .

How had I managed to fall in love with her, yet still not really know who she was? That baffled me. The assumptions I'd made about her invariably turned out to be incorrect, and her interactions with her friends only further mystified me. After all this time, she was still an enigma. Even in her sleep, she remained elusive.

I looked forward to the morning; there was so much I needed to know. I was an empty vessel that demanded filling. I thought about her at home, sleeping peacefully, and the ache of longing — so new, though already so familiar —gnawed at me once more. I lost interest in the music as the restlessness in my soul took hold. I would not be able to wait until morning.

_I thought you were staying in tonight_. Esme appeared on the landing as I was putting on my coat.

I shrugged, knowing she was only voicing her concern. She'd make no attempt to stop me.

She stood in the doorway, and her gaze never wavered as I departed. Waves of worry followed me down the drive and around the corner until they faded into the dark forest night.

* * *

The rain and wind whipped at the trees, scattering leaves and bark onto the ground. A proper storm was a rare event in this perpetually sodden place. I scaled the wall, afraid that the cold draft of incoming air might wake her ― the noise of the moving sash never did. My entrance was silent, as usual.

She slept on despite the squall, though she was very restless. She was talkative too, calling out for both her parents from time to time. At one point, Chief Swan sat bolt upright in bed, listening ― a parent's instinctive response. I prepared to flee but he quickly settled and his snores soon echoed own the hall.

This restlessness was so unlike her. She tossed and turned, and when I approached, I could feel an almost fever-like heat coming off her body. Was she falling ill again? No, there was no virus present; but _something_ was causing her skin to flush that way.

"Not s'posed to play . . . " And I smelled the tears once more. She was reliving gym class; I was sure of it.

Then her scent began to take on a subtly different note - somehow becoming even more mouth-watering than usual. How was she doing that? I crept closer, mesmerized.

"Amber . . ." What did that mean?

Then she said my name again. I'd heard that longing in her voice before, but it carried a new undertone now. Sometimes, Rosalie spoke Emmett's name that way. Coming from Bella's lips, it confused me.

I retreated to the rocking chair, anxious, wishing she'd settle down. I wanted her to rest, but I wanted to know what she was dreaming about. The talking continued, and I couldn't make anything out. There was no peace to be had in her presence tonight.

Wrapping my hands around my knees, I began to rock back and forth, willing her to relax. I stopped listening to the babbling and just stared blankly at the floorboards.

"That's Gran's chair," she said suddenly, her sharp tone startling me, making me look up.

A pair of deep brown eyes met mine ― eyes that were wide-open, seemingly very much awake.

I dared not breathe. I dared not move.

Would she scream? Call for her father?

There was no time to flee.

She shifted against the pillow, half-sitting up now, and I shrank into a ball.

I knew I was undone.

The little crease appeared between her brows. "Why are you here?" she wanted to know.

* * *

**Poor Edward, and what a shameless cliffie! **

**What do you think will happen next? I'd love to hear your predictions. **

**Until next time . . . ~W**


	16. Night

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. The lyrics quoted are by a talented group of musicians known collectively as _Arcade Fire_.**

**Thanks, as always, to **my wonderful beta,** Lezlee, and to Miaokuancha, **whose intriguing questions helped me loosen the reigns and allow Edward go where he needed to in this chapter.** Also, cheers to Robsjenn, **who read this entire story in a single weekend, leaving thoughtful reviews for every chapter. We've since exchanged some very interesting PMs.

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**  
Disarm – Smashing Pumpkins http: youtube . com / watch?v = d1acEVmnVhI&ob=av2n  
The Well and the Lighthouse – Arcade Fire youtube . com / watch?v = oig4qO2aq2k

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for your patience, dear readers. This chapter turned out to be an inordinately long one to write, resulting in two halves that are as different as, well, to coin the cliché, night and day. In the interest of keeping momentum, I've decided to post them separately. Without further ado, here's the first part.

T_o recap, when last we saw Edward, Bella had awoken and discovered him in her room…_

* * *

**NIGHT**

_"__**You fool, now that you know your end is near,**_  
_**you always fall for what you desire, or what you fear." **_

"Why are you here?" Bella Swan had asked me, and the ensuing silence was excruciating, endless.

The digital pulse of the bedside clock marked time, counting the seconds to my undoing and I shrank into the rocking chair. Feeling the spindles creak beneath my spine, I braced for the inevitable, wondering, with the strange abstraction that only panic can induce, if the bars of my jail cell would bend as easily once they closed on me.

But she didn't scream; she just gazed at me expectantly. The darkness had leeched all colour from her face, and were it not for her bemused expression I could have been looking into the impenetrably black irises of another thirsty vampire.

I had no idea if she was truly awake or not, but what difference would it have made? There was no explanation for my presence, and horror had robbed me of all speech.

Beside the clock, a slim vase held a single, wilted daisy. In my vain search for an escape route, I don't know why I noticed it. Something, a slight shift in the foundations of the house perhaps, caused one of the petals to detach from the head and fall to the floor.

_Have you come to kill me?_

She would ask that question next, wouldn't she? Knowing what I was, she would have to. Deep down, she must understand the threat I posed — what drove me above all else. Not even she could believe I'd come simply because I loved her. Could she?

My hands flew over my ears reflexively, as if they could prevent the words from being spoken — or protect me from hearing them.

_No, no, a thousand times, no!_

And never had I seen so many emotions cross her expressive face as in that moment. Curiosity swiftly replaced confusion, and then, as she attempted to understand my inappropriate response, her features softened, displaying concern — pity, even.

Not once did she show fear. Rather, she reached out, entreating, the way she had when we'd talked that afternoon.

"I'm sorry . . . ," she whispered, though for what, I couldn't fathom.

There was a small, detached part of my mind that somehow remained lucid throughout all this, observing the bizarre tableau from some other plane. It watched the monster cower in terror even as its prey offered succor.

At another time, that gesture would have offered comfort; in another place, I wouldn't have flinched away. She dropped her hand but continued looking at me, her brow creased with worry.

_Have you come to kill me?_

She hadn't asked the question, but I still expected it. After the better part of a century, I heard those words as clearly as if they'd just been uttered. What had made me recall them now— at this moment?

He was the only one who'd spoken, and I regretted killing him the most. That's not true; I regretted killing all of them, but I'd thought it a fair trade at the time — giving him what he wanted so I that could get what I wanted. No regrets, no remorse — either of us.

I used to fear I'd turned into an evil thing just like him, but it wasn't true. It _wasn't!_ I protected her from creatures like him . . .

_He was awake when I broke into the bedsit. Alone at the small table, he pasted a flower into a book, aligning it neatly beside an obituary cut from the paper. He'd pilfered it after the funeral. He liked to keep mementos._

_My entrance was silent, my movements lightning-quick, but he was more observant than most. He was a predator too, after all. Sensing the intrusion, he stopped what he was doing and closed the book. The action caused a single petal to escape from the pages and float to the floor. _

_Deliberately, he raised his head to look me in the eye. He was unafraid; he felt no guilt for what he'd done. On the contrary, he was . . . disappointed._

"_Have _you_ come to kill me?" he asked, disdainfully, petulantly even._

_This wasn't what he'd expected. Didn't he deserve more appreciation _— _more fanfare _— _for his work? Hadn't all his careful exterminations (for that's what he called them) warranted more than this? Where was the hail of bullets _— _the glorious fire and brimstone _— _that he'd dreamed of for so long? Why was only this slip of a boy here to take him home?_

_That conceit enraged me, and I sent him to his maker more painfully for it. But his death wasn't violent. I didn't want to spill a drop of his precious blood. I felt the world become a better place as it crossed my tongue, soothing the raging burn in my throat. _

_God, the blood. I'd never tasted anything like it. I'd thought of nothing else since I'd found him._ _I gorged until it was all gone, and too soon the sack in my arms was dry. There was never enough. Why was there never enough? _

_I threw it into the corner, gaining small satisfaction at the way its lungs collapsed and sighed out a belated gasp of horror._

_As I was leaving, I caught sight of my reflection in a mirror, and for the first time, couldn't turn away from it. What I saw turned the sweet blood bitter in my veins, making me want to spit it up. I tried to _— _I even thought about grabbing a kitchen knife and slitting my wrist though it would have been futile. Had I found one sharp enough to pierce my skin and slice the vein, the blood would already have been absorbed. _

_Though it wasn't the last one, I suppose his death marked the turning point. Many months would still pass before I could return to my family, and years more before I was able to forgive myself for the terrible things I'd done. _

_Perhaps, I never truly had. Sometimes the monster in my head still wore his face. _

But now I cowered in a rocking chair, in the presence of a human girl whose blood was indescribably sweet, and whose soul was untainted and pure. My world had become an infinitely better place since she'd entered it. She wanted to know why I'd come, and it was because I loved her.

I yearned to tell her that, but I had no voice.

I knew what _should_ happen next. Even if I could flee, she'd report my intrusion to her father. I'd allow myself to be caught and punished. It would serve as some penance for my many past transgressions. I could never see her again, but I could _exist_ knowing that she was alive, and hopefully living a happy life.

But my family — what would it do to them? Would I be given that one phone call so I could warn them to leave while they had the chance?

Bella spoke again, and I couldn't believe what she said next.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I didn't mean to scare you."

And I felt my body uncoil, just a little. My eyes must have been squeezed shut for I was abruptly aware they were wide open and staring into hers. Her hand reached out to me again.

"It's just that . . . I didn't expect you there."

She motioned towards the rocking chair, but I didn't understand. Of course she shouldn't expect me. No one anticipates an intruder in the middle of the night. I continued gaping, and my lack of response evidently perplexed her.

Though she frowned, she didn't appear otherwise unduly distressed by my unexplained presence. On the contrary, it looked as if she was trying to organize her train of thought.

"In the other dreams," she elaborated slowly, as if pointing out an obvious fact, "you stand by the window."

It took a full second for realization to dawn, and one more before I could believe it. She referred to the place from where I customarily watched her sleep — the shady corner by the window. My God. On some level of consciousness, she knew; she was unafraid because she already knew that I came here.

Was that why she called my name out? Was it an acknowledgement of my presence? No, that explanation was too simple. The longing in her voice had been unmistakable, as had the subtle change in her scent . . .

_Are they good dreams?_ I wondered, realizing too late that my voice had returned and I'd asked the question aloud. _Sweet Jesus!_

I recoiled once more, bracing for her to fully waken and start screaming, but only heard her sigh instead.

"Yes. . . ," she whispered, and when I looked up, she was smiling. "you keep me safe."

She'd told me as much in the restaurant last night, though I hadn't believed her. I'd thought she was just being obstinate. I felt a rueful smile ghost my lips as warmth spread through the space in my chest where my heart used to beat.

Perhaps the theory that brought me here in the first place had credibility after all — and Freud's too, by extension. Dreams _did_ reflect the subconscious, and through them, I _could_ hear her thoughts — or at least, they allowed me some insight into her infuriatingly silent mind.

If I told her that I loved her, would she hear that? Would she remember it in the morning?

The wind picked up, rattling some overhanging branches against the eaves, and throwing shadows like bony fingers into the room. When I glanced back from the window, her eyes were open again and she gazed into the night as well.

"You have to go." It was an observation, not an order.

I nodded slowly.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Even now, she wanted reassurance I wouldn't disappear in a puff of smoke.

Her smile returned at my affirmation and she closed her eyes, turning away from me, on her side. Within seconds, the rhythm of her breath deepened, and she'd wrapped an arm around the pillow, clasping it close to her.

I watched her shoulder softly rise and fall, suddenly strongly gripped by the need to be held as tightly as that cushion. But why would she ever want to embrace a creature of cold stone? The glow in my chest tightened into a small ball, constricting my breath as it snuffed itself out.

_Bells?_

I heard the unspoken call and didn't hesitate, leaping through the window and across the yard, yet somehow keeping the presence of mind to close the sash behind me.

Halfway up the boughs of a huge cypress, I stopped, losing all energy, and suddenly finding myself out of breath, coughing, and retching. No doubt it was shock, and it proved to be a powerful emetic, for with no further warning, my stomach emptied itself of its only contents.

That piece of apple had been an uncomfortable and strange memento to keep, but its evacuation left my throat raw, and my heart sore. I heard it land amongst the leaves below with the softest thud, and wished it were back inside me.

Fearfully, I listened to the noises coming from inside the white house. The floorboards creaked faintly under Chief Swan's feet as he crossed the hall, and the hinge of her bedroom door gave the briefest answering squeak when he cracked it open.

Through his eyes, I could see that her position hadn't shifted since I'd left. He watched the blanket move slightly as she breathed. She appeared very deeply asleep, but he was certain he'd heard voices just now. For that split second of clarity he'd experienced when roused from restful sleep he'd been absolutely sure of it. Had she been on her phone? Who would she be talking to at this time of night?

Bella gave a little murmur, and he shook his head, shrugging apologetically. Not for the first time, he reminded himself that having another person in the house, even someone as easy to live with as his daughter, took time to get used to. It was hard to let go of the habits of a solitary life.

He'd been sad to miss so much of her childhood. She was so grown up now, but he was glad something of that precious little girl remained unchanged. She still talked up a storm in her sleep.

His bedroom clicked shut, and soon his thoughts soon drifted to incoherence. I was preparing to make a run for the car when my phone buzzed.

"Stay where you are. I'm nearly there."

Waves of anxiety preceded Alice's arrival and it wasn't long before she appeared at the base of the tree, in a spot shaded from moonlight. I landed on the forest floor beside her.

"I'm so sorry, Edward!" she gasped, gripping me in a fierce hug. "I shouldn't have gone hunting. If I'd been paying more attention, I could have warned you."

Despite her self-recrimination, we both knew that I would have disregarded her warning and come here anyway.

"She knows everything, Alice," I whispered urgently. "Everything. She didn't just figure out what we are. Somehow . . . she knows I've been watching her too."

In tandem, we turned towards the house, still silent and dark, and I told her what had happened while I'd been in Bella's room – and what she'd said to me.

Alice didn't seem at all surprised. "She must have given you an awful fright," she surmised, Anticipating what I would ask next, she admitted a little chagrined, that, "The nights I watched her, while you and Emmett were away, your name came up a few times."

"You said she had a nightmare." I remonstrated.

She shrugged. "She did."

I massaged my suddenly throbbing temple. This line of conversation was irrelevant right now; there were practical matters that needed attending to.

"Do the others know what's happened?"

"No. I was out on my own. I came straight here."

"You should warn them. You should all leave while you can."

"Don't be stupid," she scoffed. "We'd never abandon you."

"What if she remembers tomorrow? What if she talks?"

She threw her hands to her hips. "Don't you have any faith in her at all?"

When I didn't answer, she gave an impatient growl and closed her eyes, searching the future, monitoring decisions . . . seeking. Finally, her eyes opened, their focus sharp, their expression certain.

"I've never once seen her tell anyone about us. Not ever." And she turned to face me. "As for if she'll remember . . . well, you'll have to deal with that, when, and if the time comes. Ultimately though, it makes no difference."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. The outcomes haven't changed."

And I felt both great joy and depthless despair about what that truly meant.

"Don't make the mistake of underestimating her, either," she warned. "She's not like the rest of them."

I hated it when she made these sort of sweeping statements. Suddenly, I felt profoundly tired. Nevertheless, I had to know what else she'd seen.

"What about Saturday?"

She hesitated, but knowing it was futile to be cagey with me, chose her words carefully.

"I'd be lying if I said that caution wasn't warranted."

A moment of darkness clouded her rosy vision of the forthcoming weekend, one that could swing the balance of fate in either direction. I knew in my heart that it was too dangerous to go through with it, but she smiled reassuringly, and patted me on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," she soothed. "I'll help you. We'll work out a game plan, just the two of us."

"Right now though, you need to hunt," she decided. "You can't go to school looking like that. You'll scare everyone."

I shuffled my feet, embarrassed. "I threw up."

She told me later that my irises had turned black as pitch.

...While I was hunting, it suddenly occurred to me that never once, during any of my visits to Bella's room, had I desired her blood...

**~The lions and the lambs ain't sleeping yet...~**

* * *

**Well, was this what you expected would happen? I admit, I was rather surprised by what Edward showed me, too. But there's a reason he showed us that memory from his dark nomadic days.**

**So: what do you think it is that links Bella to the killer in Edward's past? ****And will she remember his visit in the morning?**

**I'd love to hear your theories and predictions.**

_**Until next time…**_


	17. Daylight

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**My heartfelt thanks go to Miaokuancha, who betad this chapter while Lezlee was on vacation. **I was lucky enough to get a sneak-peek of the new chapter of Miaokuancha's wonderful story, _A Garment of Brightness_, and it was sublime. Have you read it? DO! You can link to it through my favourites.

* * *

**A/N:** You're probably still wondering about the killer from his past that we encountered in the last chapter, and why he haunts him so? This evil man has been hovering in the background of _Fox Fire_ since I started writing it. His significance has gradually become clear to me, and over the Christmas break Edward finally told me the whole story. It's dark and bleak. It will appear in the "Midwinter" series once I've edited it. Watch your alerts.

_For now, are you sitting comfortably? Then we'll resume . . ._

* * *

**Playlist Pick:**  
Night and Day - Cole Porter www . youtube . com / watch?v = 34FHYl9NHVw

* * *

**DAYLIGHT**

The storm was blowing itself out by the time I returned. Clouds skittered like nervous sheep across a washed-out moon, and the wind seemed too exhausted to give chase.

Alice and I watched the Swan house for some time. I knew she was only staying to humour me, and she was right of course; the night wore on and the only sounds inside came from two humans deep in slumber.

_I didn't know that females could snore_.

She'd climbed into the branches of the same cypress I'd landed in and listened intently, her head tilted to the side like a curious blackbird. I climbed up to sit next to her.

_What?_ She easily ducked the elbow I jabbed, but didn't hide her snicker.

"She's very tired."

_Oh_-and her eyes lit with mischief-_you're so sweet about her already . . . Creepy, but sweet._

I scowled, and her thoughts gushed forth in a saccharine torrent that left me nauseous yet strangely thrilled. In the midst of the surge, I caught the image of a bare white shoulder with a smattering of freckles, one that was gone as quickly as it appeared. Had she done that or had it been a machination of my wicked mind? It was hard to tell these days.

Her face was solemn but her lips twitched, and of course my scowl only egged her on. The teasing diffused the tension however, and her amusement became infectious. Her thin legs kicked the air, punctuating her glee, and I found myself laughing along with her, laughing at the peculiarity of everything that had happened.

Calm once more, we playfully punched each other's shoulders then, glancing briefly at the silent home across the lawn, made the tacit decision to return to our own. Alice had been more than patient and I knew she was anxious to get back to Jasper.

We decided not to tell the others about what happened; at least, not yet. I wanted to share my sister's optimism about the future, but found it difficult.

Bella had said I kept her safe. I tried to hold on to that.

It was pointless trying to hide anything from the family. All of them knew something was up as soon as we returned. Guessing correctly who was involved, Rosalie was instantly caustic.

"Ugh, haven't you fumigated your car yet?" She sniffed theatrically, and with her lip still curled, addressed Alice. "I've got to leave early today. If you and Jasper aren't ready by seven, you can find your own way in."

Alice threw her a mirthless grin and I just brushed past, giving her shoulder a subtle shove. She hissed, but I refused to rise to her bait.

The friction with Rosalie preceded me up the stairs, ushering Jasper from his study to block my path. His anxiety and my earlier promise not to exploit his wife's compassion hung heavily over the stairwell.

"Alice found me." I cut him off. "She knows her own mind."

Visibly deflated, he just stood there with his hands balled into fists.

_I know that. It's just . . ._

Had I been in his place, her unquestioning approval of Bella would have troubled me too. But Jasper struggled more than any of us to see beyond the liability the girl represented, to quell his instinctive reaction whenever his battle scars were prodded.

From the beginning, Alice had been so certain, so protective. Convincing him that Bella was no threat had strained their relationship, but he was gradually coming around to her way of thinking. How could he not when she was already so attached?

She came to stand beside him now, and her comforting touch immediately calmed him. Unable to benefit from his own gift for mood manipulation, he knew how lucky he was to have her. He covered her small hand with his, and smiled wanly.

Tipping his chin curtly at me, he muttered, "Sorry. I was out of line."

Between us the matter had closed, but I couldn't escape the discussion between him and Alice that ensued behind closed doors, not without vaulting into the sodden forest night once more. It remained his greatest fear that the Volturi might still find out we'd been exposed.

"I know what will happen if they come. I told you about the Mexican wars, the survivors?"

He'd told us more times than anyone cared to count, and I'd lived through the carnage with him many times more. I was glad she couldn't see what haunted his memories. The violent life he'd led before her hadn't been of his choosing, but he'd known no other way. What he'd done for the love of a certain survivor of those wars would always torment him.

"I remember," she soothed. "And I understand." Though she couldn't, really. None of us could.

Shuffling closer on the couch, she pulled him to her, wrapping her limbs around him, a tiny burr that wouldn't let go.

"But if you could see what I have, Jazz," she murmured, her chin wedged over his shoulder. "It would fill you with hope, for all of us. You've seen how different Edward is already."

He couldn't deny that. "I've no doubt that he cares for the girl . . ." He swallowed, and his face assumed a bitter mask. "And I envy his self-control. Had that been me, she'd be dead by now."

But Alice only gripped him tighter, giving him a little shake. "What is it with you Cullen men and your low self-esteem?" she chuckled.

_What, indeed?_ I wondered, curling up on my couch in the room above.

I'd pulled a blanket around my knees and picked up a journal, intending to while away the last hours before dawn by writing, but found there was nothing to say. There were no words to describe what I'd just experienced.

Lost in thought, alone but for the memory of the demon I'd conjured at Bella's bedside, I wished the thunderous volume of my MP3 player could drown the world out.

My warnings to her had been weak and she'd refused to heed them, wanting to see only the good she believed was there. But if she truly knew me, she'd understand that a monster lay beneath the pleasing façade.

One day, I'd have to tell her about him. I'd have to tell her about all the men I'd killed, and how powerful it made me feel to murder them and drink their blood. Especially his . . . my God.

None of that would ever come close to the terrible ecstasy one drop of her blood would ignite should it ever land on my tongue. If she knew that, she'd feel anything but safe with me.

By dawn, I'd embraced fatalism. I decided that if she remembered anything about last night, I wouldn't deny I'd been in her room. In a way, I hoped she would remember. I was tired of secrets, tired of lies. If it meant that she'd want nothing more to do with me or that we'd have to move again, so be it.

And if it didn't, I still wanted her to know everything-even the terrible secrets I'd never revealed to anyone else. Her simple honesty was compelling, reassuring me that she'd understand somehow. I began to feel more at peace as the sky lightened.

And there remained the conundrum of her obviously quick but devilishly silent mind. That I could be so intrigued by a young and innocent human . . . She was truly an enigma.

Weeks of eavesdropping and speculation had left me barely better informed about her than I'd been on the day we'd first met. I still railed against my inability to read her mind. I felt akin to a blind man who had suddenly lost his sight.

Early on, I'd expressed my aggravation to Esme, who'd responded with a gentle yet somewhat condescending smile, reminding me that most people were forced to learn about one another through a process of give and take, leading to discovery, both of the other and of oneself.

Remembering her platitude unfortunately brought my argument to its full circle, underscoring my fear that Bella wouldn't like what she discovered about me, no matter how badly I wanted her to find out.

Bowing to fate, but not wanting to tempt it, I let the previous morning's routine repeat itself. I watched my siblings pile into Rosalie's convertible, declined my parent's offer of a lift, and drove into town so lost in thought that I found myself at the corner of Bella's street with no recollection of exiting the highway or stopping for traffic signals on the way.

Chief Swan passed in the opposite direction, without even sparing a glance. And why should he? I was attributing more importance to myself than I deserved. To my relief, Bella's nighttime vocalizations didn't trouble him. In fact, he wasn't even thinking about her at all, preoccupied as he was with the workday ahead and the weekend fishing trip he had planned.

Shifting into neutral at the lip of the drive, I let momentum bring the car to a stop. Leaning back against the seat and blowing the air out of my lungs, I grasped the bottle cap I always kept in my pocket, rubbing it like an amulet before setting it atop the steering wheel.

Once again, she didn't keep me waiting. The bottle cap had barely begun its third arc down the wheel when the curtains in her window twitched. Swallowing suddenly pooling venom, I caught it, stuffing it back in my pocket, and listening to the rapid reverberations of her footfalls down the wooden stairs; it sounded like she took them, two at a time. She left the house rapidly, without bothering to lock the deadbolt.

Neither of us caught the other's eye as she walked to the car, but I scrutinized her posture, her every movement-on the alert for . . . anything. She hesitated shyly before opening the passenger door and stepping in.

Her freshly washed hair was still damp, augmenting the delicious fragrance coming off her skin, and her jacket was unzipped, revealing a simple brown turtleneck made of fine wool. The colour made her skin look rosy, and as she reached to pull the seatbelt around herself, I couldn't help but notice how closely the material clung to her curves.

The gush of venom became a torrent, a physical reminder of the ever-present danger I represented. Forced to swallow audibly, I cracked the window. Why did her scent not affect me so when I visited her at night?

"How are you this morning?" I asked, trying to appreciate the lovely planes of her face while searching it anxiously for residual memories of last night. No doubt I looked pained.

"Good, thank you." Her smile was genuine, but there were dark circles and hollows beneath her eyes.

Still, she seemed perfectly relaxed and her expression was mild. There was no reproach in her eyes-nothing to indicate she felt in any way violated. Rather, her look seemed to say _I accept you as you are_, and it gave me courage.

Not courageous enough that I could be upfront with her however. How was I to approach it?

_Good morning, Isabella. Terribly sorry for the disturbance last night. I promise it won't happen again. Next time I watch you sleep, I'll just stand unobtrusively by the window. . ._

"You look tired," I fished for an opening.

"I didn't sleep well," she replied, quickly swinging her hair over her shoulder, though not quick enough to hide the creeping blush. What had brought that on?

"Bad dreams?" I held my breath.

"No"-and she took a strand nervously between her fingers-"Just weird ones." She sank back into the seat with a sigh.

"The storm kept waking me up," she mumbled. I watched her nimble fingers plait a little braid.

"It _was_ pretty bad," I acknowledged, drumming my own on the steering wheel.

The braid unraveled, and a curious dark eye peeked beyond it. "Did you go out last night?"

"For a while."

"Can I ask what you did?"

"Absolutely not." My grin was wan. "It's my turn today, remember?"

How easy it was to lose my nerve and slip into the part I'd promised to play. I'd been an actor my whole life, but the role of dogged suitor was not one I'd ever expected to land.

"Oh. Right." She frowned. "What did you want to know?" _What could possibly be so interesting about me?_ was what she seemed to ask.

_Everything. What do you love? What do you hate? Why do you call out my name in your sleep?_

Asking what her favourite colour was felt ridiculous. I was certain it was purple; her bedspread was purple, so was her backpack. She wrote with a purple ballpoint pen, unless she was handing in an assignment. Then she used black ink, like I did. But I had to start somewhere.

I was right; it was a ridiculous question, and she was unimpressed. "It changes from day to day."

"Well then, what's your favourite colour today?" Was it that deep blue that looked so marvelous against her skin?

She traced the path of a drop of condensation as it flowed down the window.

"Probably brown."

"Brown?" I snorted. _Whose favourite colour was brown?_

"Why not?" she demanded. "Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that's supposed to be brown-tree trunks, rocks, dirt-is all covered up with squashy green stuff here." She waved a dismissive hand at the passing scenery then folded it back into the other, pressing them together.

She was still homesick, and brown meant comfort; that made sense. It was also probably why I'd heard her complain, "It's too green," while she slept on the lawn the other day.

"Well, this is a rainforest," I teased, but I knew what she meant.

And I knew when it was that I felt most warm. Wanting to see all of her face, I reached over to brush the curtain of hair behind her shoulder. My movement was too swift but she didn't recoil.

"But you're right," I added, appreciating how the colour of the sweater looked against the creamy skin of her neck. "Brown is warm."

"Next?" she asked, steeling herself.

"What was the first CD you ever owned?"

"My mom bought me a copy of Peter and the Wolf when I was four." She smiled at the memory.

"Do you still have it?"

"It's at home-in Phoenix."

"What parts did you like best?"

"The cat's theme. And the grandfather's."

"Why?" I asked, wondering if she played a wind instrument. I'd never seen one in her room, and she'd arrived too late in the school year to join the band.

"I don't know. Maybe because I never had either?"

I remembered the little black cat who'd been my childhood pet-his sleek fur and his sandpaper tongue-but I had no recollection of either of my grandfathers.

"And what was the last song you listened to on your MP3 player?"

"Um, it's called _By Myself_."

I couldn't for the life of me picture her in a mosh pit much less enjoying that sort of music; it just seemed so incongruous. But I had the same CD. Unable to help myself, I pressed seek and cranked the stereo volume.

"Debussy to this?" I asked, over the cacophony.

Laughing, she pressed her hands over her ears, unknowingly evoking my terrified gesture from last night. And like last night, I'm sure she saw me flinch. When I turned the volume down and she lowered her hands, there was a question in her eyes.

I should have answered it right away, before it could even be asked, but I was too cowardly.

We arrived at school shortly, and I pulled into a spot across from Rosalie's convertible. The crowd of admirers was thinner this morning, and Mike Newton was no longer among them. He and Jessica sheltered under the cafeteria roof's overhang, discussing their plans for Saturday's dance.

Neither was so engrossed in the other that they failed to notice Bella and I walk past. From Jessica, I felt envy and lingering disbelief; from him, disappointment. I admit I enjoyed that. I couldn't restrain a small smile from tugging at my lips as his eyes followed us around the corner.

"Tell me about the best book you ever read." Walking at human pace didn't allow us much time to get to her English class, and I wanted to make the most of it.

She arched an eyebrow. "I can't just narrow it down to one. I learned to read when I was four."

"That was a significant age for you. First CD, first book . . ."

"I guess. I was four when we moved to Phoenix, too," she remembered, and immediately I wanted to know more about that. More questions for later . . .

"So, what was your favourite story when you were four?"

"_Go, Dog. Go._ was the first book I ever read," she clarified. "But my favourite story then was called _The Lion and the Mouse_."

My mother also read to me from Aesop's fables.

From there, the floodgates opened and she told me about every novel she'd ever read and why she'd loved it, or why she'd put it down. I was familiar with most of them; the classics remained constant throughout the generations.

The discussion about books lasted for the better part of the morning, and I found myself speeding through the nearly empty hallways to escort her from one room to the next, eager to learn more. Every fact she told me about herself launched a thousand more questions, and for once I could make productive use of class time, analyzing her responses, and anticipating what she'd say next. Invariably, my predictions were incorrect but her answers were just so interesting, I couldn't get enough. I was the half-filled vessel, thirsty for knowledge instead of blood.

I listened, rapt, as she revealed herself as a child-a quiet, serious little girl who preferred the company of her imagination to that of others, one who was often caught reading by flashlight under the covers, long after lights-out.

She'd cried when the Little Match Girl died; crawled into the deepest recesses of her closet to find the entrance to Narnia; and hidden from marauding pirates. She'd gone down the Rabbit's hole to battle the Red Queen; and she'd ridden in The Great Glass Elevator.

Captivated though I was, I remained wary about what she remembered after last night. I probably read too much into her glances, but once or twice it looked like she'd thought of something-or was just about to say something-only to quickly change her mind.

_Well?_ Alice found me in the hall after third period.

"Not a word," I muttered.

_Interesting . . ._ Matching my pace, she deliberated future events, decisions, permutations. Two figures in the forest . . . a shadow . . . our house . . .

"Why would she keep quiet, do you think?"

_I don't know_, she mocked. _Why don't_ you ask _her?_

I glared.

_I told the others_, she announced, not looking at me. _I thought it would be best._

I'd expected she would. They already knew where I went at night. They'd probably anticipated something like this would happen.

_Rosalie's unhappy, but Emmett convinced her to wait and see._

And Rosalie would enjoy making everyone else as unhappy as she was. I grimaced, determined to stay out of her way if possible.

Alice and I parted ways and I walked just a little bit too quickly to the language lab to meet Bella.

A morning at Forks High never passed so quickly for me. Before I realized, we were in the cafeteria, and she was telling me about a book she'd adored when she was nine-one she read so many times that the spine finally gave way, and the pages fell out.

"I guess things haven't changed much." With a wry shake of her head she pulled the battered copy of Wuthering Heights from her bag to inspect its condition.

I could picture her at nine, tears brimming over as she realized that even inanimate objects have finite lives, and she'd unintentionally destroyed something she cherished. I had an inkling of that same grief every time I moved to touch her.

But at that moment, I was more interested in why she remained in the thrall of that dreadful novel she held in her hands.

"Just, the drama, you know . . . the heartache. They can't let go of one another, even after death . . . Don't you ever watch soap-operas?"

"No."

She didn't need to mention the ghost that came through the window. It was already in the room.

She frowned. "Maybe it's a female-thing," she guessed finally, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear.

And I found myself contemplating the perfect whorl of that ear. It uncurled like a tiny fern, or a seashell-I couldn't decide which. I was no longer attending to her chatter about books; my mind's eye saw me take her soft earlobe between my lips. Would her skin's taste differ subtly from its scent?

No, not there. Too dangerous, too close to the jugular. I shut my eyes to the thought of my lips skimming along that earlobe and my teeth slicing into the vein below. I needed a moment to collect myself.

She asked if I was all right, and I was ashamed.

Still, such pretty earlobes deserved better than the cheap studs she wore in them today. She deserved fine things. I wanted to give her a token of my esteem. I supposed it was improper to give her jewelry just yet, but I should at least know her preference. I'd inherited a number of trinkets from my mother, and she might like to have one someday.

Without hesitation she told me that her favourite gemstone was amber, information I would simply have filed away had she not said that very word last night. She wouldn't tell me why she liked it; in fact, she seemed deeply embarrassed she'd said anything. My usual methods of persuasion failed of course, forcing me to coax and cajole. The whole exchange very much amused my sharp-eared siblings.

"Tell me," I finally commanded before she reduced me to begging.

"It's the colour of your eyes today," she mumbled, pulling a curl straight.

_Gag me_. Rosalie rolled her eyes as Emmett made choking noises.

Glancing shyly through lowered lashes, Bella continued, unaware. "Two days ago, I would have said topaz. Ask me again in a few weeks, and I'd probably say onyx." _I accept you as you are_.

My face would have flamed as red as hers had it been able to. Flattered though I was, there was no way I'd go so long between kills that she'd ever see my eyes that flat black. Not again.

"Where did you get that ring?" I asked instead, and she looked relieved that the conversation had moved to a more comfortable topic.

Twisting the silver band so the design faced front, she told me it was a gift from her grandmother.

"It's Navaho?"

"Yes." She was surprised I knew that.

She took it off to let me see it. The band was too small to fit past knuckle of my little finger, so I admired it where it rested, the warmth of her flesh encircling my own.

"Pretty." I pressed it into her palm and her fingers closed around mine for just a second. Did she feel my shiver? "Is your grandmother still alive?"

She nodded. "She lives in Florida."

Biology was another complication. There was still the rest of that wretched film about microbes to watch. As soon as the lights went down, I could feel it again: the painful desire to stroke her cheek, to bury my nose in her hair. It pulled and surged, dragging me into its undertow. There was no stopping it.

She felt the same way; I could tell from the set of her jaw and the way she'd trapped her arms against her sides. I was wondering how I'd survive the forthcoming hour of torment, when something moved against my elbow.

On a small piece of paper, she'd written the word "Boring". No one had passed me a note since 1916. I stifled a laugh and looked around, but Mr. Banner was oblivious. Surreptitiously, I nodded.

"Wish something else was on," she wrote next.

"Such as?"

"You'll laugh," she warned, frowning as she passed the paper back to me. I shook my head; I would never laugh at her.

"Your favourite film?"

She looked embarrassed again. "Science fiction. Really old," she hedged. "I'm such a geek."

I assured her she was no such thing, and she told me what it was without much persuasion. Evidently, her definition of 'old' differed significantly from my own.

"Which trilogy?" I asked.

"Original."

"Of course." And she drew a smiling face beside that.

"Best of the three?"

"_Empire_."

"Favourite character?" Her little sketch was rough but I knew who it was.

"Powerful Jedi was he."

She was delighted. "He's very Zen," she wrote, and I had to agree.

"His best line?"

She didn't write one line, she wrote an entire speech-how many times had she _seen_ it? The last eight words were most poignant.

"_Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter_."

I would never have described my freakish skin as luminous. Of course she had no idea, and it wasn't what she meant. When she returned the piece of paper, her smile was beautiful, glowing almost. To me _she_ was luminous. She was incandescent, and there was no one else in the room but her.

I was still staring at her when I heard the impatient tap of the pencil, and glanced down to where she'd written, "Yours?" on the sheet.

"It's really old." I joked hastily, getting a hold of myself. Her smile became determined and she tapped the paper again.

"_Rear Window_." Relatively speaking, it wasn't an old film, but she probably wouldn't have heard of it, let alone seen it.

Banner's gaze drifted around the room and something caught his attention then. Quicker than he could have seen, I concealed the piece of paper so when he approached to check, it appeared that we'd both been taking diligent notes about microbes.

Suspicious, he hovered nearby until class change, and without further distraction, the magnetic tide between Bella and I surged again, assuming tsunamic proportions.

It was a relief when the bell rang but, still caught in the maelstrom, we found we couldn't speak on the way to the gym. At least, I couldn't. The thunder of her heartbeat was the only voice I wanted to hear.

Her hand brushed against mine once, twice . . . again. I wanted to take it but I was afraid the intensity of what I felt might make me squeeze it too tightly, crushing her soft bones.

My dead heart shaped words of love but they caught in my throat. There were no words to describe what she meant to me. There was only the way the soft satin of her cheekbone slid beneath my fingertips.

_W-o-w_. June Richardson saw our wordless exchange and she followed an unsteady Bella into the changing rooms, absently stroking her own cheek.

I would not eavesdrop through Jessica as they changed clothes. I would go to my History class and sit quietly for the hour, just breathing. I would not think of the naked shoulder I saw in Alice's vision.

Nearing the classroom, my head broke the surface of the maelstrom; I became aware of my surroundings and the ever-present voices.

_. . . I know I got that answer wrong . . . I can't remember which president it was . . ._

_Bummer I've got to work on Saturday, but the dance doesn't start 'til eight. If I hurry then . . ._

_. . . doesn't even know I'm alive . . ._

Ben Cheney's face peered around his locker door as Angela walked past, chatting animatedly with another girl. His thoughts did not often emerge from the background babble, but I understood why I'd picked them up now. I knew how he felt. We were not so very different, after all.

I thought about it for a second or two.

He really was very short for a human male. Had his growth cycle already finished, I wondered? Apart from that, he seemed normal; he recoiled as I approached, turning to hurriedly lob books onto the locker shelf. It was nearly out of his reach and one heavy text teetered precariously on the edge. I caught it before it could fall.

"If you ask her to dance on Saturday, I don't think she'll say no," I murmured, securing it for him.

He blinked at me through his thick glasses then paled, caught between innate fear and outright astonishment. He looked around to make sure that it was actually him I was speaking to.

There was no one else nearby. His astonishment changed to mortification as he struggled to make sense of what I'd just said to him.

_Oh, no! Did Conner put him up to this? I swear I'll wring his stupid neck!_

"I'm not going to the dance," he muttered. He started to sweat at the very thought of dancing.

"Maybe you should think about it."

There was always a choice. There was always a chance.

He craned his neck for one last glimpse of Angela then looked back at me. But I'd already moved on.

_Edward Cullen, two days in a row? To what do we owe the honour?_

_Don't expect a hat trick_, I thought tersely. Alice and I had already made plans to hunt tomorrow afternoon.

It was easy to let Mrs. Goff's cynicism roll off my back, but tuning out the thoughts of the students in my History class was another matter entirely. Their minds were so abuzz with the upcoming dance they were practically shouting.

One girl hoped the pimples on her back would clear up in time; she really loved her strapless dress. Another speculated that hers made her look fat. She'd made herself throw up again after breakfast, but it still didn't fit right and she was depressed. If she could truly see how sharply her shoulder bones protruded through the material of her t-shirt . . .

Some of the boys wondered if it was possible to smuggle alcohol in soda bottles, and I had to try very hard not to turn in my seat and inform the one sitting behind me that the ruse had never worked during his grandfather's day, and nor would it work on Saturday.

Before long, the myriad little dramas and incessant inner chatter became too much to listen to. It was a relief to collect Bella after Gym and not have to listen to anything at all. Her silent mind was a comfort.

My own had been anything but silent, and I'd catalogued a new list of questions for her by then. I wanted to know more about her family, and what she missed about home besides the colour brown.

She told me about her parents' brief and tempestuous marriage.

"They were probably too young to get married, and my mom was definitely too young to have a baby. She's still young, you know? She's one of those people that live in the moment; always rushing into things . . . My dad's just the opposite. He's very careful. I think she dazzled him a little . . ." She smiled wryly.

"They tried to make it work for my sake, but it was too hard. Small town life stifled her, but he was content. Everything he wanted-family, home, job-was right here, but she wanted more. She felt stuck. That's probably why she stormed out on Charlie like she did. To make him follow her. He's really stubborn, though. You can't make him do anything.

"And by then his parents were both already sick. He's an only child, so he was responsible . . ."-it sounded like that trait had been passed down-"She hoped he'd come for her after they died, but he had his job here and the responsibilities that came with that. After a while, she gave up waiting."

"I'm sorry."

"I was so little when it happened; it's just how my life is. I know he still cares about her. I think he still loves her, really. He said he was happy when she remarried, but I think it was relief more than anything else. He and I both were. She, uh, had a lot of boyfriends before Phil came along. He can give her the kind of life she wants."

"Didn't you miss your father?"

"Oh, he was always there for us. I saw him a lot. And I used to spend summers here until three or four years ago"-so that was why our paths never crossed before-"But I could only stand so many days sitting on the couch and watching his old Star Wars DVDs. I convinced him to take holidays in California instead. It was a compromise: sunshine for me; fishing for him."

"So, why did you really come back here?"

She was silent for a long time. "My mom doesn't need me anymore," she finally said, simply.

Her choice of words made me very sad. She was the child: what about her needs?

"And your father?"

"Well, he thinks he's pretty self-sufficient." Her expression seemed to say, _But I know better_. What would she do when she figured out that he didn't need her either?

"Do you think you'll stay?"

"For now . . . this place is growing on me." And she smiled when she said that.

We sat in front of her father's house for hours as the sky darkened and the rain encroached once more. She told me what she missed about Arizona, why that stark and arid landscape appealed to her so much. She'd obviously thought about it a great deal since moving to Forks, but she didn't need to justify her preference for another place to me.

Aside from the climate, what she described was not physically dissimilar to Denali-a rugged land of endless skies that seemed barren much of the year. It was only when you stopped to notice the subtle beauty that you truly appreciated the teeming life around you.

I watched her expressive hands flutter into stillness as she finished telling me about her bedroom in Phoenix and felt humbled. I'd been thinking about her unfettered disclosure, how much I'd learned about her today. That honesty deserved the same respect. Perhaps now was the time . . .

"How late is it?" she suddenly wondered, blinking at the display of the dashboard clock like she didn't believe it.

"It's twilight," I murmured, looking at the murky western horizon. "The safest time of day for us. The easiest time. But also the saddest, in a way . . . the end of another day, the return of the night. Darkness is so predictable, don't you think?"

How would she react when I told her where I went once darkness fell, and what I did then? Would she remember that she spoke to me last night? That she felt I kept her safe? I hesitated just that instant too long and she pre-empted me.

"I like the night. I like watching the stars." She frowned. "Not that you see them much here."

I chuckled. "Your dad will be home soon"-it was nearly six and he was a creature of habit after all-"so, unless you want to tell him that you'll be with me on Saturday . . ." I raised an eyebrow.

"Er . . . thanks, but no thanks." She pulled her backpack onto her lap. "So, is it my turn again tomorrow?"

"Certainly not. I told you I wasn't done, didn't I?"

"Figures," she muttered, but she didn't really sound too displeased about it. She played with the zipper of her bag, making no move to get out of the car.

"I'm glad that we're friends now, aren't you?" she offered after a brief pause.

"I am too," I said, smiling and reaching across to open her door. Wait: I could do this. I _would_ do it. "Bella . . ."

Her heart fluttered, but it wasn't the rising rush of blood beneath her skin that immobilized me. I took a breath, swallowing my frustration. I hadn't been paying attention. They were coming from both directions, and it was too late to escape without being seen.

Closer than his muted thoughts indicated, Chief Swan approached, anticipating Bella's latest offering in the kitchen and putting his feet up to watch the game later on.

From the opposite direction and approaching more quickly, I caught the thoughts of two more. Sooner than I wished, I could smell them. The wet, musty odour that clung to their kind made me livid.

"Not good," I hissed through clenched teeth. Why them? Why now?

"What is it?"she asked, startled by my changed demeanor.

It was a social visit. They'd brought a quantity of fried fish with them as a gift for her father. There'd been some sort of falling out and the meal was a peace offering. The boy was pleased his father had let him drive-he'd just received his learner's permit. And he was especially excited to be seeing Bella again.

I sought to compose myself. "A complication," I finally managed, flinging the door open and retreating to my side of the car. Why? What was I guilty of? I'd done nothing wrong!

A dark car pulled up a few feet away, headlights trained directly at us. The boy glanced at his father, seeking praise for his driving, but his attention was on the silver car that unexpectedly occupied the driveway. Curious, he followed his father's gaze into the now sheeting rain.

There was no chance to get away. I'd been caught . . . fraternizing. Billy Black had seen. He'd seen and he'd already made the wrong assumption. He didn't know I could never hurt her.

"Charlie's around the corner," I warned, willing her to hurry. Perplexed, she flipped up her hood and got out, giving me an uncertain little wave before turning to squint into the glare of the oncoming headlights. She obviously hadn't been expecting any visitors.

I glared through the downpour at the parked vehicle and the two pairs of eyes within, continued to stare back. Black would not back down.

_You don't know me!_ I wanted to shout at them. Forks was neutral ground, and I had every right to be here. No rules had been broken and he knew it.

He wouldn't instigate a confrontation in front of Bella and the child. He wouldn't say anything when Chief Swan arrived either. He'd come here to make amends for an argument they'd had about my family.

Only because I was armed with that knowledge did I back down. I revved the engine, squealing the tires against the wet pavement, and was out of range in seconds. The dog could have his day.

The door to my forest escape was open when I got home, though I knew I'd closed it this morning. The incoming breeze scattered sheet music across the floor, billowing the curtains. The bottoms of them were damp, and so was the rug, which was out of kilter. Annoyed, I sighed . . .

* * *

**I'm betting that Bella probably does remember Edward was in her room last night. We know why he's afraid to talk to her about it, but why do you think she has kept quiet?  
What's she waiting for? **

**As always, I'm looking forward to your speculations and opinions. . . drop me a line. Don't be scared! Just click that little Review button right down there. ;-)**

**Anon, Woodlily**


	18. Butterflies

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

Thanks, always to my beta, **Lezlee**. I'd also like to acknowledge the interesting dialogue I've had with **Malianani** lately about, among many things, Edward's musical tastes. One of her comments inspired a joke in this chapter.

* * *

**And thank you, dear readers, for your patience.** I intended to post long before this, but Real Life turned decidedly nasty recently, forcing me to put writing on the back burner for a while. To those of you who know what happened, thank you for your continued kindness. Your support has meant a great deal.

The drama in this chapter moves slowly, and almost all of it takes place in Edward's head. Perhaps Real Life also slipped into the writing because his mood too, is somewhat bleak. In defense, I will say that I don't believe he stepped blithely into the meadow that sunny spring morning. I know he had a lot of self-doubt. And we all know that his family wasn't entirely supportive of what he was about to do, either. No wonder he got 'butterfies'.

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**Playlist Pick:**

Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood ― Benjamin, Caldwell & Marcus

I'm fond of the edgy version by The Animals: youtube . com / watch?v = tOV0pCAJvBM&feature=related

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_To recap, because it's been a while: Edward and Bella were outside her house, talking, when Billy and Jacob Black paid a surprise visit. Knowing he'd been recognized, he drove off, hoping that Black wouldn't mention his presence to Bella's father. He returned home to find that an intruder had been in his room…_

**BUTTERFLIES**

There'd been an argument. I'd felt the lingering tension as soon as I got home. Not Esme and Carlisle, who were very much together at the dining room table, pouring over the financial portfolios, nor Alice and Jasper, who'd gone out some time ago. In fact, none of my siblings were at home . . .

But I could still hear echoes of words flung in anger. _Selfish prick . . . always indulged him . . . I won't stand for it . . ._

They hung heavy in the mind of the intruder, much the way his distinctive scent still lingered in my room. I followed in its wake, collecting damp sheet music, righting the rug, and checking if anything had been moved or taken.

My new guitar was in tune; he'd left all the instruments alone. He―for the intruder was definitely male―knew better than to touch them. Maybe so, but he'd marked most every surface in the room. I could imagine his hand trailing languidly across the shelves . . .

_Parachutes_ was missing. Everything else was exactly where it should be but, out of the thousands of CDs crammed into the shelves on the western wall, that one was gone. He knew I kept a system, and that I'd notice right away if anything was out of place. Why hadn't he just asked me for it?

I buffed some fingerprints off the turntable cover, relieved that I always kept my journal hidden because he'd probably have taken that too. Like a naughty puppy whose favourite game was chase or be chased, he was looking for a reaction.

Well, he could wait. He'd been waiting in the boughs of an overhanging tree for several minutes actually, trying to disguise his thoughts by imagining the sound of one hand clapping. I shrugged the strap of the acoustic guitar over my shoulder, and began to slowly tune it.

"There are more constructive ways to get my attention you know." I played a few quiet bars to inform him I knew exactly which CD he'd purloined.

There was a second's silence before my remark was met by a deep chuckle. Cursing his inability to remain inconspicuous, the perpetrator flipped himself over the doorframe and into the room, his great muddy feet scuffing the rug once more. My brother had no talent for rapping, but he'd definitely missed his calling as a circus acrobat.

In another fluid movement he'd landed on the couch and made himself comfortable, obviously intending to stay for a while.

"Wow, I can really feel it molding to my ass," he complimented, running a hand across the upholstery. "Yes-s . . . soft Cor_ee_nthian leather," he purred, mimicking an erstwhile Mexican actor.

I eyed him and kept playing.

"Can I borrow this, by the way?" He waved the CD in the air.

"You could have just asked."

"Shit." He snorted. "Can't believe it took you so long to figure it out. You're losing your touch."

_Distracted much?_ he wondered, looking back to the wall of shelves. "Hey, uh, what's Thelonius Monk?"

"Tibetan throat singing," I deadpanned, becoming irritated. It was unlike him to prevaricate.

"And sweet Isabella's not fond of your deep-throat singing?" He snickered. "That why she scorned you from her bed-chamber?"

I was not in the mood for his vulgarity, nor did I appreciate the bawdy scenes he imagined for my edification.

"No?" He was enjoying himself. "Perhaps you should stick to the lute."

"She's got company." I didn't feel like playing guitar anymore, either. "And it's not like that."

Grinning, he put up both hands like he was stopping traffic. "Hey, I don't want to know what it's like, trust me. That's your business."

And that was not why he was here. Once again, in his mind I heard the wheedling, pleading, and the furious cries. A door was slammed; another was kicked, dented.

"You're in the dog house." It almost pleased me to say it.

"Not exactly . . ."

I gave a cynical snort, but the gist of their argument had become clear.

"It's me she's angry with. She shouldn't take it out on you."

"She should cut you some slack." He crossed his arms. "Of all of us, she knows what you're going through."

And it was clear also why he was here. Alice hadn't just told them what had happened at Bella's house last night; they knew what was planned for Saturday as well. He didn't think I was strong enough.

"Thing is, I agree with her." Of course he did. Yet he'd defended my decision, nonetheless. He was a good brother.

"I could never harm her," I whispered. _Not intentionally . . _. My words belied a lack of confidence and we both knew it.

He took a deep breath. "If I asked you not to go through with what you've got planned on Saturday, would you?"

"Thought not," he surmised when I didn't respond. "Then, do you have a back-up plan? I mean I could be nearby . . ."

It was a sensible precaution, and it was logical to accept his offer. But there was nothing logical about what I felt for Bella. Once again, he took my silence as refusal.

"You going back to her place tonight?"

He already knew the answer to that question, but as for the others he was poised to ask . . . I didn't really understand my compulsion to return to her bedside night after night myself―even after she'd somehow sensed my presence. How could I explain it to him? How could I put into words the peace I derived from just being near her? Would he understand the terrible longing I felt when I was not?

"Rose'll be sore for a while," he predicted. "You want to go do something?"

_Not particularly_. I wasn't thirsty and Alice would ensure I gorged myself sick tomorrow. But the rain had eased up; the weather was about to change.

"Kick a ball around, maybe?" he suggested.

By 'ball', he referred to the rocks and boulders we'd carved to size to suit the sports we played together. We'd learned, very early on, that traditional rubber and pigskin lacked any durability so we'd begun improvising our own. Wherever we lived now, we kept a stock somewhere on the property.

He picked a large one from the storage crate and we chose some Douglas Firs on opposing sides of the Sol Duc valley as goal posts. It wasn't rugby, soccer, or touch football that we played; it was our own game―a one-on-one combination of all three that rapidly degenerated into a free for all, a contest of whoever could throw longer, or kick higher amongst the treetops.

We moved faster than any creatures of the night, faster even than the swiftest predators. Their calls resonated through the dark forest as we played, but they were elusive, instinctively fleeing from our presence.

Emmett needed the physical outlet. It helped him reconcile vastly conflicting emotions that veered wildly back and forth from frustration to pity to . . . regret? It was difficult to keep up, but two things I gleaned clearly. First, now that he'd uttered his peace, he intended to say no more on the matter. Second, he would stand by his wife through whatever was to come. Was this how it was, I wondered, when human beings watched their sibling ship off to a war that they didn't support or understand?

Hours later, during an unnecessary break, I watched him punt the ball with such speed and power that it sheared the top branches of a tree clean off, exploding against the far wall of the valley. He howled victory to the waning moon, running around the clearing with his t-shirt pulled over his head. In the distance, a wolf howled back.

He came to rest beside me and we sat quietly for a while.

"She does care," he finally ventured, meaning Rosalie. "In her way. She worries."

"I don't know how you put up with her."

He smirked. "You think I haven't learned a thing or two being with her all these years? She respects you more than anyone, maybe as much as Carlisle."

"She despises me."

_You're wrong. _

"She hates that I see through her―that I don't worship the ground she walks on."

"What she hates is that she's always been able to count on you to do the right thing―to be the responsible one. Since little Bella swanned into town, she feels she can't rely on you anymore. She lashes out because she's scared.

"You're alike, you know"-And he cut me off before I could protest-"You are. Don't tell me you wouldn't be just as hard on her if the roles were reversed."

Esme had delighted in pointing out our similarities many times before. He was probably right, but I wasn't about to admit it to him.

And I was saved the opportunity, for in that moment the breeze picked up, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of another vampire on the hunt. The predator closed in on a lone buck some way ahead; we could almost taste the animal's fear as it desperately tried to elude its pursuer. Of one mind, we took off through the treetops, following the trail of adrenaline and inhuman glee to its source.

The trail ended at another clearing several miles away. Still downwind and hidden above, we surveyed the scene. The blond head of our brother shone dimly in the moonlight as he crouched over the still body of his prey.

Emmett grinned and tapped the side of his nose. _Flying suplex, off the top ropes. _

Jasper never heard us coming.

I was surprised to see Bella's light on when I went there later, but I could hear her typing at the computer as I approached. Her Quileute guests must have stayed late for her to still be doing homework at this hour.

From the bough of the Cypress concealing me, I could just see her sweet profile, her brow furrowed in concentration. In fact, only her head and hands were visible, protruding pinkly from beneath the woolen afghan cocooning her. I was glad she had warm covering. She could easily catch chill in that draughty house.

I watched her for a while, wishing I could be wrapped in that blanket with her, her cheek pressed against my own. I marveled at the way her solemn expression changed as she burrowed her nose under the lip of material at her chin. She inhaled deeply, looking almost blissful.

_My Bella_. This was how I'd think of her always: warm and safe. Content. Alive.

I felt as if she and I stood at the edge of a great precipice, waiting to jump off into―what? The looming Unknown was frightening. There was a very real possibility that it could all go horribly wrong on Saturday. She was putting her life in danger just to be with me, something I had no right to ask of her.

If I were any kind of man, I'd cancel this outing. She'd be disappointed but she'd come to understand why eventually. Even as I thought this, I knew I was in too deep. And I was no man; I was a selfish creature, intent on ruin, and greedy enough that I'd squeeze in every moment with her that I still could.

That's why I drove her to school as usual the next morning. Alice was annoyed that she didn't get to ride with us; she'd been hoping for an introduction at last. She wasn't particularly pleased about squandering valuable hunting time in favour of retrieving Bella's truck either, but I didn't care. Like I said, I was selfish.

Bella was cheerful when I picked her up, taking the passenger seat as her rightful place, and making no mention of the Blacks' visit. Nor did I bring it up; I was just thankful Billy had been discreet around her father.

She was eager to tell me more about her family today, particularly her mother. I'd pictured her as a blonder, more gregarious version of Bella, but the more she related, the more it became apparent that their similarities were mainly physical.

I learned that Renée was a vivacious woman who was not afraid of a challenge, but she lacked focus. She'd invest a lot of time and money in a hobby only to drop it as soon as something else came along that took her fancy.

And Bella had taken part in many of her hobbies over the years, tagging along with the passive acceptance of a child who was happy just to spend time with her mother.

"Deep-water running, rollerblading, yoga, rock climbing . . ." She grimaced mentioning the last one. "She does that with Phil now." Evidently, that was a good thing.

I assumed they would have gone climbing in the mountains near Phoenix, but not so. She'd been a small fish in a big sea of over three thousand students at her old high school, and she'd gone to two sessions at the climbing wall there before putting her foot down.

I also learned a great deal about her maternal grandmother, the one who'd given her the Navaho ring―that she and her husband had retired in Florida, and she still lived there even though he'd died of a heart attack years ago

I'd had a grandmother too, once. I couldn't picture her face any more, but I thought of her every time I heard an Irish accent. Hers never faded even after she'd lived in America for more than half her life.

"I'm glad Mom and Phil found a place in Jacksonville," Bella was saying. "They'll be a lot closer to Grandma if anything happens. She's over seventy now." As if that made the woman impossibly ancient. It made me wonder how she'd react when she learned how old I was.

We were outside her Spanish classroom by then, with still another minute left before the late bell rang. She chattered on as the room filled; the other students still threw us speculative glances as they filed in, but I wasn't listening to their thoughts. Movement further down the hallway had captured my attention. Over her shoulder, I saw the waves of students part like a school of fish before a shark.

Taller than everyone else, Jasper's head and broad shoulders appeared to scythe through the mass of bodies before him. The tension he always felt in close proximity to his natural prey lined his face. He didn't have class in this wing now―what was he doing here? And why wasn't Alice with him? I searched but couldn't sense her anywhere nearby.

He was making his way towards us. Neither his thoughts nor his movements indicated aggression, but I tensed instinctively, feeling my hackles rise. He was a predator, but he could be deterred. It would take only a look or a low growl. He wouldn't make me spring at him, I told myself. Not here. He wouldn't be that stupid. I made no obvious acknowledgement of his approach, but moved subtly closer to Bella.

Human eyes wouldn't have registered the slightest deviation in his stride, but he paused as he passed us, turning to inhale the scent coming off her hair. His nostrils flared, and his jaw twisted. I poised to spring. He wouldn't harm her; he wouldn't even get the chance.

But that wasn't why he'd come. He held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second. When he opened them, his gaze was conciliatory.

_Bearable, _he decided, swallowing audibly. It was painful for him, but no more so than what he'd become accustomed to tolerating. His relieved exhale was audible to my ears only, and as he moved off, his posture had visibly relaxed.

_Of all the reckless . . . !_ Alice must have told him she'd seen Bella visit our house. It was an irresponsible thing to do in public―irresponsible, yet brilliant. What better way to ensure that he kept himself in check? I wasn't sure whether I wanted to applaud him or punch him.

Meanwhile, Bella had followed my anxious glance in time to see Jasper disappear around the corner, and there was no doubt she was curious. Fortunately the late bell sounded, preventing her from asking any questions, but I knew she'd find a way to bring the subject up later. At least it wouldn't be difficult to distract her in the meantime. There was still so much I needed to know, and I felt we were running out of time.

In the cafeteria later, she told me about the few close friends she'd left behind in Phoenix, and the things they'd done in their free time. She described typical activities of teenage girls, and they weren't really very interesting to me, but it saddened me she felt she was already losing touch with them.

I was more interested in her romantic history. I already knew that she'd never had a boyfriend, but surely there must have been someone who'd caught her eye?

"Not in Phoenix," she clarified.

_Just like me, _I thought bleakly_._ And just like me, she was attracted to the one who was most dangerous to her. Not sure what to say next, I poked a rubbery chicken nugget into the congealed dipping sauce on my plate.

_We should get going soon_, Alice called just then.

I felt my shoulders slump. She was right; preparations were necessary and time was of the essence. Trying to fight off a rush of oncoming dread, I prepared to take my leave.

"I should have let you drive yourself today," I confessed apologetically, watching Bella's eyes widen.

"Why?" she asked sharply. She knew I'd hidden something from her.

"I'm leaving with Alice after lunch."

"Oh." She blinked, trying to hide her disappointment. "That's okay, it's not that far of a walk."

"I'm not going to make you walk home." I had better manners than that. "We'll get your truck and leave it here for you."

"I don't have my key with me," she sighed. "Really, I don't mind walking."

That was out of the question. "Your truck will be here," I assured her, "and the key will be in the ignition―unless you're afraid someone might steal it." Although I couldn't imagine anyone who'd be tempted to take that piece of junk on a joy ride.

"You really don't have to-" she began, then bit her tongue. A glint of challenge twinkled in her eye. "All right," she finally consented,_ Try and find it then_, she seemed to say.

"So, where are you going?" Her tone was casual but I detected the sadness underneath. Did that mean she'd miss me? Why did that thought make me happy?

"Hunting." And just as quickly I felt grim, imagining what might happen tomorrow if I wasn't adequately sated. "If I'm going to be alone with you tomorrow, I'll take whatever precautions I can."

She must have gleaned something of my bleak train of thought because she looked troubled. She folded her hands, leaning forward earnestly.

"You can always cancel, you know. . . I mean, if you think it will be too difficult to be . . . alone with me."

What had it cost her to make that offer? I found it necessary to centre myself. "No," I whispered, and I could meet her eyes again, I felt resigned. "I can't."

"I can't either," she admitted, then attempted to change the subject by asking when she could expect to see me tomorrow.

"That depends . . . " I realized that I hadn't actually given it any thought. "It's a Saturday, don't you want to sleep in?"

Her quick denial had me biting back a smile. "The same time as usual then," I decided. "Will your father be there?" At the very least, it was proper etiquette that I be introduced to him. Given the circumstances, it was also a valid safety measure.

"No, he's fishing tomorrow." That seemed to please her, but I was appalled.

"And if you don't come home, what will he think?"

"I have no idea," she replied, suddenly annoyed by my prudence. "He knows I've been meaning to do the laundry. Maybe he'll think I fell in the washer."

Why was she so obstinate? She knew she was putting herself in danger―she'd acknowledged my own difficulty just moments ago―yet she gave no thought to her own safety at all. How absolutely maddening! She returned my glare with a steely gaze of her own, and we remained in a standoff until inevitably my glower proved much more fearsome than hers.

"What are you hunting tonight?" she asked, backing down.

It was still so strange to discuss the secret realities of my life with a human. "Whatever we find in the park. We aren't going far."

"Why are you going with Alice?"

"She's the most . . . supportive." I supposed that was one way of putting it.

"And the others?" she asked timidly. "What are they?"

How could I describe the upheaval she'd brought into our lives? How could I explain what her presence meant without frightening her or further arousing her curiosity?

"Incredulous, for the most part," was the best I could manage.

She cast a surreptitious glance behind her at my siblings, each staring off in a different direction, each listening intently to our conversation.

"They don't like me," she surmised.

Rosalie gave a contemptuous snort. Emmett, gazing out the window, had placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back.

"That's not it," I protested, struggling to articulate the truth. "They don't understand why I can't leave you alone."

Bella grimaced. "Neither do I, for that matter."

_Not that old refrain again_. . . "I told you―you don't see yourself clearly at all. You're not like anyone I've ever known. You fascinate me."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, so I elaborated. "It's my experience that people are predictable. But you . . . you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise."

She flushed, embarrassed for some reason, and her gaze wandered back to my family once more. I felt waves of irritation roiling off Rosalie.

"That part is easy enough to explain," I continued, wishing Bella would face me instead. "But there's more . . . and it's not so easy to put into words-"

I was attempting to find those words, to give her some sense of what she meant to me, but Rosalie'd had enough. She turned abruptly, fixing Bella with a glare of cold resentment.

_You'll never be one of us little girl, no matter what Alice says. You'll never get the chance-_Bella was like a deer in the headlights, unable to look away-_He'll eat you alive tomorrow. _

I was thankful Bella couldn't hear her, but how _dare_ she interrupt? How dare she try to frighten her?

"Enough!" I hissed.

_Mark my words, Edward_. _This is folly and we'll all pay for it._ And she released Bella's gaze with a contemptuous turn of her head.

I was heartsick at the confusion and fear on Bella's face when she turned it to me. "I'm sorry about that." I managed to reign in my irritation with some effort. "She's just worried. You see . . . it's dangerous for more than just me if, after spending so much time with you publicly . . ."

And I looked down, struggling for words.

"If?"

Even here, now, her scent called to me so. How would I control myself when we were alone tomorrow? I was loathsome, shameful. I didn't deserve to live if anything happened to her. Anguished, I hid my face.

"If this ends badly," I whispered through my fingers.

I sensed her reach across to me; I didn't deserve her pity. Unsure whether to offer comfort or not, she placed her hand on the table.

Struggling to speak lightly, she surmised, "You have to leave now." It was an observation, just as she'd made in her sleep the other night.

"Yes," I sighed, raising my face to hers, forcing a smile. "It's probably for the best. I really don't know how much more about the lifecycle of microbe it's possible to endure learning about. Take notes for me, won't you?"

_Alas, parting is such sweet sorrow! _Alice was intent that we make a move, determined also to receive her introduction. Bella started as she noticed her standing behind my right shoulder.

"Alice." I acknowledged her without taking my eyes off Bella.

"Edward," she answered. _Well . . . ? _she prompted.

"Alice, Bella―Bella, Alice." I gestured casually with my hand.

"Hello, Bella," she purred. "It's nice to finally meet you." _Oh, Edward, she's lovely, _she gushed_. I _knew_ she would be_. _She's just perfect for you_.

An image of herself and Bella, arm in arm, flashed brightly in her mind, and I frowned. I didn't appreciate being reminded of her predictions right at that moment.

"Hi, Alice," Bella greeted my sister shyly.

_So sweet!_ she sighed, but my dark look sobered her. "Are you ready?" she asked.

_How could I be? _I lamented, though I tried to be aloof. "Nearly. I'll meet you at the car."

Bella watched Alice leave the room. Turning back to me she asked wryly, "Should I say 'have fun', or is that the wrong sentiment?"

"No." I grinned. "'Have fun' works as well as anything."

"Well, then . . ." She worked to sound wholehearted.

"I'll try. And you try to be safe, please."

"Safe in Forks―what a challenge." She rolled her eyes.

"For you, it is a challenge." My jaw hardened. "_Promise_."

"I promise to try to be safe," she pledged. "I'll do the laundry tonight―that ought to be fraught with peril."

_Ha! I thought you were the only one who still used _that_ word_, Alice chided, not quite out of earshot.

"Don't fall in," I mocked, rising from my seat.

"I'll do my best," Bella promised, standing too. "I'll see you tomorrow," she sighed.

The interim would pass in the blink of an eye for me, but . . . "It seems like a long time to you, doesn't it?" I mused.

She nodded glumly.

"I'll be there in the morning," I promised. Giving her a last smile, I reached across the table to stroke her cheekbone with pad of my thumb. I felt her eyes follow me until I was gone from her sight.

The fishing tackle lured me in. I'm surprised I noticed it there, propped against the mantelpiece by that massive television, but I'd never been on the ground floor of Bella's house before and I was curious. I'd found the key in a jeans pocket in the laundry hamper, and was exploring the layout.

In the instant I saw it I knew, with absolute certainty, that my own father had been a fisherman too. He'd sit in that rowboat for hours; I'd watch him as I played on the lakeshore. Some days he never caught a thing . . . Why had I never remembered this before?

Curiosity piqued, I'd crossed the living room floor to look at the photos lining the mantelpiece. There was her parents' Las Vegas wedding, followed by a shot of them on a hospital bed cradling their newborn daughter, and then a procession of Bella's school photos from Kindergarten to Grade Ten.

More interesting were the candid photos―the ones of just her and her father on holiday. In one, they were pointing at an erupting Old Faithful, in another, they were at Golden Gate Park. At the end of the row, one pictured them at Disneyland wearing matching pairs of mouse ears, he, without moustache, she, without her top front teeth.

For some reason, that photo that triggered a very strong memory of myself at about that age, one humid Illinois summer.

_I could feel the spot where the new tooth broke through the gum. I worried at it with my tongue while Father prepared the lines. I didn't know I was making faces until he frowned at me. _

"_If you keep doing that, your face'll stay that way when the wind changes." _

_I didn't really believe him; but I found myself patting my cheek, just in case the wind had changed without me knowing. I didn't want to go through life looking like a monster. _

_There was a bucket of bait at his feet―live worms. Worms were like caterpillars but they had no legs. If caterpillars grew into butterflies, did worms grow into snakes? The things you wonder at six. _

_He placed one in my right palm, an upended fishhook in my left. _

"_Now, remember what I showed you?" _

_The pink thing between my fingers twitched feebly. The fishhook stood up like an unanswered question. _

"_You won't hurt it," he assured me. "They don't have feelings as we do." _

_How did he know that? I looked at him, feeling only dread. _

"_You can do it," he urged. But I wasn't sure _what_ to do. _

_I remember biting down. I remember tasting blood._

_The worm died anyway._

Somehow, these memories were her doing. They'd been insignificant in the past, like half-remembered dreams, but since I'd met her they'd changed. They'd become charged with the same intense emotions I felt whenever I was around her. Was she reawakening the human in me?

I thought about that as I clutched the key to her truck in one hand and the photo of her, gap-toothed and mouse-eared, in the other. Her first missing teeth, her first vehicle, and tomorrow morning she'd go on her first date with a boy. Milestones of a life she was only starting to live.

It wasn't just her life that would be in my hands tomorrow. There'd be no more milestones if it all went wrong, nothing for her but the cold embrace of the grave, and for the loved-ones she left behind only longing for what could have been. Whatever she'd resurrected in me would die too.

She trusted me to keep her safe. I could not betray that.

"Did you lock up?" Alice asked, holding her hand out for the ignition key.

_When had I left the house? _I stared back the way I'd come_._

"Are you all right?" Her palm was still extended.

"No."

I handed her the key to the Volvo instead.

The engine rumbled to a halt and I sighed, resting the back of my head against the seat. The school grounds were deserted―only distant shouts from the sports fields broke the silence. Fifth period was well underway. What was Bella thinking about in Biology right now? Was she as preoccupied about tomorrow as I was?

I knew Alice was waiting in the Volvo back on the main road, but all I could do was breathe. Bella's scent permeated the cab, enveloping me in a luscious cloud and I didn't want to get out.

I couldn't lose this. As painful as it was, I would always crave it. And I loved her. Truly.

I reached for the bottle cap in my pocket, the memento of her I kept with me always. Closing my hand around, I wished there was something of mine that she could keep, something I could leave for her now.

_For what purpose, Edward? So they'll know in the end that it was you? _

Ignoring the voice of doubt, I pulled a piece of paper from a binder.

The note I left on the seat was paltry―a simple request―but it was the dearest wish in my heart.

I wanted her to be safe.

I could only hold onto the faith that, in the end, it would have to be enough.

* * *

**Well, Bella's not the only one who can't see herself clearly, is she? Edward's still filled with self-doubt at the end of this chapter. It seems he's thought of himself as a bad person for so long, that it's difficult for him to change his mind-set. I think he's learning, though: he had a bit of an ephiphany after that childhood memory. **

**On a happier note, the next chapter will finally, FINALLY see our lovebirds set off for the meadow, and I can't wait! It's already in progress.  
(Wow, shock: the track has been laid before the train for once.)**

**At this point, I'd like to thank all of you who have stuck with this story so far. I would not have got here without your encouragement. **

**Adieu,  
~Woodlily**


	19. Together Alone

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from Twilight is purely for clarification.**

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**Thanks to my beta, Lezlee, who tells it like it is, and to Miaokuancha and Malianani, who've both loaned me their shoulders to, er, whine on lately. :-)**

**A/N from a groveling, penitent Woodlily:** You've been kept waiting for an intolerably long time once again gentle readers, and for that I apologize. There's nothing and no one to blame this time but an overly-precious writer who's unable to stop self-editing. I'm getting help for my addiction though: I'm learning how to write that 'crappy first draft' and work forward. Please be patient with me as I rehabilitate.

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**Playlist:**  
Everyone has her/his own playlists for the Meadow. I've created one, entitled "Together Alone", that spans this chapter, and the next. You can link to it on Grooveshark:

grooveshark . com / # ! / playlist / Together + Alone / 51792267

The lyrics quoted at the end of this chapter are from Lou Reed's incomparable _Perfect Day_.

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_We last left Edward on the eve of his fateful date with Bella as he and Alice set off on a hunt. We join up with him again the next morning…_

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**TOGETHER ALONE**

_Why did I even bother?_

I wiped the steam off the mirror hoping that clarity might improve what I saw there.

It did not.

My reflection grimaced back at me, irises citrine, skin flushed after the hunt. Were it not for my hair . . . ugh, some battles just weren't worth fighting. It was the only thing about me vampirism had failed to improve. No sooner had I run a comb through it than the cowlicks were standing willfully, every-which-way on end again. Surely compliance wasn't too much to ask for, just this once?

I tossed the comb onto the counter, irritated with myself. There was no point pretending I'd ever appear normal anyway. This display of vanity was a stalling tactic― an excuse to avoid confronting what I was really afraid of.

I scowled down at my naked torso, certain that the sight of it would send Bella running in horror the moment I stepped into the sunlight.

And if she ran, what then? What if I chased her down?

For the first time, the thought of chasing her summoned visions more carnal than culinary, and I was forced to take a centering breath.

I could never afford to be complacent around her. Never. The knife could turn at any moment.

Alice and I had spent last night ensuring sure my fiendish appetite was under control. Logically, the thirst wouldn't burn for weeks. Afterwards, we'd discussed for hours scenarios that might play themselves out today, as well as developed plans to keep Bella alive if I was overcome.

Dear Alice. I owed her so much. She'd stayed with me the whole time, even into the small hours when I hit rock bottom and shamelessly begged her to tell me what would happen today.

Realistically, there wasn't a lot to be optimistic about. Even she had to admit that the odds for success were only about fifty-fifty at this point. Certainly, she'd seen visions of sweetness and light, but another particularly bleak premonition also saw me with mad red eyes, huddled in some sort of cave, snarling as Carlisle tried to pry Bella's lifeless body from my grasp.

The vagueness of her foresight frustrated her as much as it did me. She didn't want me to think that she was purposely withholding information.

"I can tell you for certain that her mind's made up, but nothing's clear beyond that. It all depends on you now, brother."

That was not particularly helpful and I told her so―perhaps more forcefully than I should have. It was the only moment she displayed any impatience with me; the word _histrionics_ crossed her mind before she could stifle it.

"Sorry." We apologized to one another at the same time.

She'd learned a thing or two from Jasper over the years, though. She shut her eyes and her expression smoothed. I felt her aura of calm wash over me too. Her gaze was intense when it met mine once more.

"You've done everything right so far―made every preparation you could. You'll have to take the hand Fate deals you now."

I hung my head, knowing she was right.

But she misunderstood my acquiescence for despair. _Oh Edward, don't . . ._ She grasped my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. "I'm betting you'll make the right choice when it matters," she said aloud. "I don't place my bets lightly, so . . . have some faith. Okay?"

"Now, can we please talk about something else?"

I took a moment to absorb her words then asked if she'd had any luck convincing Jasper to attend the dance. Her teeth flashed in the dark as she chuckled.

"No. But I knew this was going to be a long-term project." She winked, and her laughter grew louder when I pointed out that she could still take him to Prom.

I suspected Jasper might dance with joy when he learned of his reprieve, but I knew the real reason she'd let up on him. I didn't ask her to shadow us―and she didn't offer―but I told her exactly where to start looking if I wasn't back by dawn on Sunday. The truck would be parked at a trail head at the very end of the one-ten, on our side of the boundary line.

"But you'll be able to tell we didn't take it. If you head north instead, after about five miles you'll come to a clearing . . ." I swallowed thickly. "We'll wait for you there."

She gave no reply, and there was absolutely nothing in her thoughts to indicate what she planned to do. It didn't matter anyway. A second later, we were taking off after one last herd of deer, her hand gripped like a vice around my arm, her ears selectively deaf to protests that I really wasn't thirsty anymore.

_Get a hold of yourself! _

My doppelganger in the bathroom mirror now glared at me fiercely. I'd become increasingly jittery since returning from the hunt, and this prolonged grooming wasn't helping.

I was certain that there had never been, nor would there ever be, a first date quite like mine and Bella's. And was that even the right word to describe what this was? Wasn't this attempt to test my limits really an unacceptable risk? Folly? Even Carlisle wondered if it was a wise _experiment_, though he'd immediately apologized for thinking so_._

_I just . . . it pains me to see you suffer. I know you care for her, and I'd make it easier for you if I could. _

He'd been thinking about changing her since the Port Angeles incident. He'd weighed up the risks of us leaving and starting all over again with a volatile newborn in the family. It wouldn't be the first time.

I'd only have to ask. He'd do it because he loved me as his firstborn. And could I say I didn't want him to, really? As much as I loved her humanity, as much as she beguiled me, didn't I also imagine her strong and unbreakable, like me? I'd be a liar to deny it.

I dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, ignoring the clothes that Alice had laid out on the couch before. Haute couture wouldn't impress Bella. Moreover, it was completely impractical to wear hiking in muddy woods.

I shrugged a light fleece jacket on over top, glancing out the window as I did. Alice would at least be right about the weather; those thin clouds would burn off once the sun got a little higher. Then again, she was seldom wrong about that sort of thing.

There was no point delaying any longer. I was ready, and Bella would be waiting. With another deep breath and a last look in the mirror, I forced my unwilling feet down the stairs. I was glad my family had complied with my wishes and stayed away. It would have been excruciating to see them all, waiting there on the landing to see me off.

I tried to leave stealthily, but I knew it would be futile. My hand was on the doorknob when it was stayed by another―a slender white one.

Esme's expression was the exact mixture of pleasure and apprehension that I'd dreaded seeing, and there was no escape. She held a small backpack in front of her.

"In case your friend gets hungry," she explained, handing it to me.

She was apologetic; she hadn't meant to embarrass me. She'd remembered that humans needed to feed more often than we did and packed some provisions. I smelled fruit, nuts, and the unmistakable aroma of dark chocolate. Human females supposedly enjoyed consuming that.

I didn't have a chance to thank her; she'd already gripped me in a fierce hug.

"Enjoy yourself," she whispered, clinging to me tightly. I couldn't look at her when she let go because I knew she was crying.

Mute myself, I could only acknowledge her thoughtfulness with a quick nod. Then I shouldered the backpack and set off into the forest at a run.

My mind raced as fast as my feet on the way to Bella's place. I thought about hundreds of things. I thought about turning around and running straight home, but the double-edged sword gleamed, beckoning me onward with the anticipation of seeing her again. I hadn't returned to watch her sleep last night so it felt like it had been a long time since I'd seen her sweet face.

Her four-wheeled monstrosity was the only vehicle in the driveway by the time I got there. Chief Swan must have left for his fishing trip bright and early. I was glad; I couldn't have tolerated waiting around for him to go, not today. I hoped Bella had told him what we'd be up to.

The melody of a Chopin nocturne came from her room; the light was on in the bathroom and I could hear her humming. I listened for a while, gathering courage before stepping from underneath the leafy safety to cross the small expanse of lawn.

_Let me keep her safe today_, I begged—who? Myself? God?—and almost turned for home again instead of knocking on the door.

There was a flurry of activity inside, followed by rapid footfalls on the stairs. I think she missed the last step―there was a thump as she neared the bottom―and then she was fighting with the deadbolt.

"Sorry," she muttered, yanking the door open at last.

She had nothing to apologize for. My perfect memory never did do her justice. Her cheeks were roses and wine, and she smelled like heaven. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders in soft waves. I felt the venom pool even stronger than usual.

"I only just bought these"-It was hard to tear my gaze away from her face to look down at her sturdy new hiking boots-"I've been trying to wear them in, but . . . " She jerked her thumb backwards, indicating her awkward flight down the stairs.

I was drinking in the sight of her―tasting the subtle difference in her scent this morning. Was she wearing perfume? No, but something about it reminded me of the way it been the other night when she'd dreamed awake. I was so overwhelmed by her proximity that it was a full moment before I realized we were dressed almost identically.

"What's wrong?" she asked, looking herself up and down suspiciously as I chuckled.

"We match." It wasn't that much of a coincidence when I thought about it. Polar fleece and jeans were about as ubiquitously Pacific Northwest as plaid flannel shirts. I stifled another snicker, imagining how horrified Alice would have been had I left the house wearing black and yellow tartan.

But Bella didn't think I'd just laughed at _her_, did she?

"Oh." Maybe she did. She gave a wan laugh but then her brow furrowed. "I could go change . . ."

"There's no need," I demurred. She was perfect. "But, um, you've got . . . " Slowly, so as not to startle her, I traced my finger over the little trail of dried toothpaste beneath the corner of her lip. With a gasp, her hand flew to her mouth.

"I'll let you lock up," I told her fleeing form as she ran back inside to find a mirror. As I walked towards the truck, I noticed that the finger that brushed her skin was distinctly warmer than the others on that hand. I touched it to my cheek.

A brief inspection of the truck made me rue ever agreeing to let her drive. It would probably fall to pieces on the highway―assuming we even made it to the highway. Also, the whole arrangement grated against my sense of chivalry. I'd been the one to propose the outing, so I should drive. I wished I'd insisted on bringing my car.

Bella reappeared, and her smirk grew wider as she drew near. She obviously had no trouble imagining what I was thinking.

"We made a deal," she reminded me smugly, climbing into the cab.

She seemed to have gotten over the fact that we'd inadvertently dressed alike too. We complemented one another in deep magenta and darkest blue. That vibrant pink was yet another colour that suited her; it set off the reddish highlights in her hair.

"Where to?" she asked, reaching over to unlock the passenger door.

"Put your seatbelt on," I quipped, getting in. "I'm nervous already." She threw me a filthy look as she complied―the drive from Port Angeles to Forks an elephant looming in the cab.

"Take the one-oh-one north."

I needed to open the window just a crack. Her scent was a lovely cloud, almost overwhelming at such close quarters, but it didn't quite mask the insidious odours of tobacco, peppermint, and wet dog that pointed to the origin of this particular vehicle.

I already knew the truck was slow, but honestly she drove through town like a little old lady. I reminded myself that she was still a new driver. That was probably why she seemed to be having difficulty keeping her eyes on the road too, but once Forks Avenue merged into the highway we still barely managed to make the speed limit. It was excruciating.

"Were you planning to make it out of town before nightfall?" I enquired.

"This truck is old enough to be your car's grandfather," she retorted. "Have some respect."

And I was old enough to be her _father's_ grandfather had she only known it. She seemed to have a predilection for antiques.

The outskirts of town receded, rapidly merging into thick underbrush and moss-covered tree trunks. We drove quietly for some time and though her eyes never left the road, her expressions seemed to change with her every thought. I would have given anything to know what those thoughts were, but an important intersection was approaching.

"Now we drive 'til the pavement ends," I told her once she'd negotiated junction.

"And what's there, at the pavement's end?" She'd noted the anticipation in my voice. "That place you like to go when the weather's nice?"

"That's where the trail begins." It was where several trails began actually, including the one we'd be taking.

"Oh." There was that little worried crease between her brows again.

"Don't worry, it's only five miles or so, and we're in no hurry." Traveling at human pace would allow me more time to adjust to close physical proximity with her. "Perfect for breaking in your new boots."

She didn't answer but her knuckles whitened against the steering wheel and her jaw started working. What was the matter? Was she finally considering I might spirit her into the woods to do away with her? Knowing her, that probably hadn't even crossed her mind. Something was amiss, though.

"What are you thinking?" I finally asked when I'd had enough of the enigmatic silence.

"Just wondering if the weather will hold out." She was lying. I could tell by the way her voice rose in a little squeak at the end.

"Charlie said it would be warm today." There it was again; I was learning to read her.

We both glanced out the windows at the thinning cloud. Her mention of her father prompted me to ask if she'd told him what she'd be doing today.

"Nope." Her jaw set itself in a hard, stubborn line.

That still troubled me. She might not be ready to tell him about me but he had a right to know where she'd gone and with whom. Surely she'd told Jessica, though? If the biggest gossip in the school knew we'd gone out together then everyone would.

"No, I told her you canceled on me—which is true."

"Nobody knows you're with me?" Had she no sense of self-preservation whatsoever?

"That depends." She was carefully bland. "I assume you told Alice?"

She knew very well that wasn't the point. "Not helpful, Bella," I snapped, though she pretended not to hear it.

It was most decidedly _un_helpful in fact—and I realized it was the second time today I'd made this indictment. Still, I already knew she was a magnet for danger; now I wondered if that attraction was reciprocal. And what if it was more than that—like she had some kind of death wish?

Her obstinate silence only goaded me. "Are you so depressed by Forks that it's made you suicidal?" I demanded.

Why should I have expected a rational response after speaking so harshly to her? Indeed, I did not receive one.

"You said it might cause trouble for you . . . us being together so publicly."

It was unbelievable how someone so smart could be so deliberately obtuse. "So, you're worried about the trouble it might cause _me_—if _you_ don't come _home_?"

She just nodded, her gaze never wavering from the road, but the tremble in that stubborn jaw made me realize I'd misjudged her again. The perceptive girl was trying to protect me—to give me an alibi in case the worst happened. Of course she was: she always put the wellbeing of others before herself. She'd acted sensitively and I'd only rebuked her for it.

There was nothing more important to me than her welfare, and she knew that. I didn't want to betray her faith in me but I couldn't help feeling she was offering herself as the sacrificial lamb in this instance; I caught myself muttering as much under my breath.

We didn't speak for the rest of the way. I felt too ashamed of myself—unworthy to even look her in the eye. Finally the road ended and she parked on the narrow shoulder near a small wooden marker. As she got out, she seemed apprehensive, her demeanor still downcast. I only hated myself more for what I'd said to her.

But it was much warmer here than it had been when we'd left Forks, surprisingly so given the altitude and the capricious spring weather on the peninsula. Had we been back in Alaska, I would have sworn that a Chinook was about to blow in.

The clouds were all wrong, though. Actually, there was not much more than a thin layer left; and when I pulled off my jacket, the bare skin of my arms glowed faintly.

Turning away from the truck and moving into overhanging shadow, I knotted it around my waist then rapidly unbuttoned my shirt. There would be no iconic moment in which I'd reveal myself, like some cartoon villain wearing a disguise—and I had no intention of giving Bella a bizarre burlesque show when we were alone together in the meadow.

That was my insecurity at work again anyway, because I knew we were very much alone already. There were no other cars parked at the trailhead—no sign of sentience, human or otherwise. I'd thought perhaps Alice or Carlisle might have arrived ahead of us, but I'd been mistaken.

I wasn't ready for this, but there was no turning back now. Locating the peculiar twisted tree trunk that marked the start of my path, I crossed over the verge into the forest.

"This way," I called, glancing over my shoulder. She'd already begun making her way to the start of the other marked trail.

"The trail?" She hurried back around the truck to catch up to me.

"I said there was a trail at the end of the road, not that we were taking it."

"No trail?"

_As if we needed one!_ "Don't worry, I won't let you get lost," I scoffed, turning at her approach only to have the smirk wiped right off my face.

She'd tied her jacket around her waist too, and through the thin material of her blouse I saw the lacy outline of her bra. I stifled a gasp, ashamed by what that sight did to me, and forced my eyes to meet hers. She looked miserable. Casting my gaze down again to where hers lingered, I understood why.

Before Carlisle had found me, I'd been very sick and lost a great deal of weight. After I was changed I regained muscle mass, but never really did fill out. My brothers still teased me for being scrawny. Ice pale, and gaunt too, no doubt what she saw of my bony torso repulsed her.

"Do you want to go home?" I asked. Perhaps this was already too much.

"No." She startled me, suddenly coming quite close. Her blood scent roiled against me in fragrant waves.

"Then, what's wrong?" I wasn't sure what to make of this turnaround.

She twisted one foot in front of the other, digging into the mulch. "I'm not much of a hiker," she mumbled finally. "You'll have to be very patient with me."

Was that _all?_ "I can be patient," I assured her. "If I make a great effort."

I held her glance, trying to cajole her into better spirits with a smile, but it didn't seem to work. There was something she wasn't telling me. Maybe she was becoming afraid at last.

"I'll take you home." I meant to reassure her, but as I made the promise I was suddenly uncertain if I proposed to leave immediately, or if I was actually promising to return her home safely at the end of the day.

And my indecision only seemed to annoy her. "If you're planning to make it back to Forks before nightfall, we'd better get a move on then," she replied tartly.

Women truly were inscrutable—her most of all! I had no idea what she wanted, and even if I could have read her thoughts it probably wouldn't have helped. I gave up trying to figure it out and led the way into the forest.

The moment we stepped into the verdant shadows, I felt exponentially more anxious. The meadow that had always been haven to me now loomed ahead as the knifepoint—the precipice—upon which our fledgling relationship balanced. But as much as I wanted to turn around, I knew now that we could not.

Her progress wasn't as slow as she'd feared, and once she realized the way would be mostly flat, she relaxed and never tripped once. She allowed me to help her over fallen logs and boulders whenever we encountered them, and it was nothing to lift her. It actually required more care not to inadvertently snap the fragile bones of her arms as I did so. She was a matchstick girl.

Every time I set her down, her heart pounded fiercely and sometimes I'd catch a ghost of that same pained expression that she'd given me in the parking lot. Though it continued to perplex me, I didn't know how to ask her about it.

And something changed as we walked deeper into the forest. As I became inwardly more apprehensive about what would happen at our destination, she became more confident about the journey. Maybe her new boots helped or maybe it was because we were away from the scrutiny of prying eyes, but her demeanor altered. She stood taller, like she'd shrugged off the weight of that painful mantle of self-consciousness she always wore.

We walked silently at first, but as she began to take interest in the landscape, we began to converse quietly. It felt almost blasphemous to speak in anything above a whisper here; these deep groves of old growth always put me in mind of cathedrals.

She told me more about her childhood in Phoenix, and her grade school teachers. I thought she might mention the prize she'd won for poetry when she was eleven—the one I'd seen it framed on her bedroom wall—but she didn't.

Mostly, she talked about her birthday parties. A lot of them seemed to have been celebrated at some sort of pizza restaurant and amusement arcade where the children were entertained by the antics of an animatronic mouse.

"No! _Chuck_-ee, not _Mick_ey," she insisted when I'd purposely gotten the creature's name wrong again.

Shaking her head as if to say, _Don't you know anything_? she tried to shove me. "Ow," she whispered, meeting the resistance of my stone shoulder.

But talking about mice—anthropomorphic or otherwise—prompted me to ask her about pets. She'd had three goldfish, the last of which was brought home as a prize after yet another birthday party. Personally, I never understood why people kept fish as pets. They were completely uninteresting creatures.

"I only had him two days," she lamented. "On the third, I found him floating upside down at the top of the tank."

"On the third day, he was risen?"

"Oh, shut up. It was very traumatic." But she grinned at my joke.

"After that, Mom said 'no more'. I knew it was fruitless to ask for a puppy, so I pretty much gave up on the whole institution of pet ownership, there and then."

"That's too bad."

"It's probably just as well. I'd never forgive myself if I caused the death of something warm and cuddly."

I knew exactly how she felt. "So, what happened after that?" I asked.

"After that, I got into horticulture. Cacti," she informed me, "are extremely hard to kill."

It was true. Despite the cool climate of the Olympic peninsula, she managed to keep a little garden of succulents abloom on her windowsill.

We drew deeper into the woods and conversation naturally subsided. How soothing it was not to listen to someone else's internal monologue. There was only the cadence of her heartbeat, our footsteps crunching the underbrush, and the creaking limbs of the ancients bowing in the breeze, bidding us safe passage.

And her scent was different out here; mingling with pine resin and cedar made it no less delicious. Like honeysuckle. I was content just to be, and not have to think about what was to come.

Occasionally, she wondered about the proximity of large carnivores and I had to assure her that they wouldn't bother us here. I didn't tell her that most animals naturally fled at my approach, even humans. All humans but her. She worried about bears while she traveled alone with the most lethal predator in the forest.

Sometime later, the light filtering through the canopy transformed, shifting from murky olive to teal, and then brightening to jade. It had become a sunny day, just as Alice predicted. I felt a fresh wave of anxiety wash over me with the scent of pollen on the wind; it wasn't far now.

Our surroundings must have sufficiently brightened for her to become aware, because she began to peer eagerly ahead, unable to hide her anticipation.

"Are we there yet?" she teased, feigning a pout.

"Nearly." Her renewed energy made me smile. "Do you see the brightness ahead?"

Hm, should I?" She squinted into the forest.

"Well, maybe it's a bit soon for _your_ eyes."

"Of course it is," she muttered, rolling them for my benefit.

But she must have seen the glow change from green to gold; her pace increased, and eagerness was evident in her every step. I let her lead the way, suddenly feeling I did not deserve to enter that space at the same time as she did.

Suddenly, she breached the fringe of ferns and stepped through into the shining pool of light. The spring grass, still wet with morning dew was already lush. The early flowers had come out since I'd been here last. But oh, _Isabella_—of all the flowers in that meadow, she was the rarest orchid, blooming just for me. My Eve.

Swaying as if to the sound of a melody only she could hear, she moved further in, stooping to take off her boots, and stuffing her socks inside. She dropped them where she was.

Her hair glinted, burnt umber-cinnamon in the sunlight as she tucked a lock behind her ear and crouched to inhale the perfume from a flower. Then she stood, smiling at the orb above, fanning her arms out to embrace its warmth.

She basked there, a creature alight with ephemeral beauty. The glow I'd always felt from within her poured into that sacred space, causing my dead heart to ache. She was so dear to me. I longed to go to her, to touch her, but I was sore afraid.

She belonged in that place and I did not.

I was an aberration. When I revealed myself, she would know so. She would flee; I was sure of it.

Then she turned, obviously wanting to share her discovery with me, only to realize she was alone. Sudden alarm contorted her face and she spun around, searching. Finally she spotted me under the dense shade of the canopy at the edge of the hollow. Unbidden, afraid, I could not move.

She took a step forward, eyes alight with curiosity. _I accept you as you are_ . . . Her smile beckoned first, then her hand.

_Please . . ._ I held up my own hand in warning, and she rocked back onto her heels, suddenly unsure.

Though I didn't need it, I took another steadying breath and stepped from shadow into light. She'd see now me as I was—for what I was.

* * *

The journey across that small space was the slowest, most fearful one of my immortal life. I had no idea what to expect. I was prepared to meet with horror, disgust, even. I was prepared to hear her scream.

I was not prepared for the loveliest sight I'd yet seen in that meadow—the look on her face of absolute wonder as the shattered diamond light of my skin touched it for the first time. Her jaw dropped. Her eyes raked my body again from head to toe, but gone was any trace of the miserable expression they held this morning.

I stopped several feet away, watching her blink rapidly. Her chest heaved, her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came. What was happening?

"So beautiful." When she finally found her voice, it was an awestruck whisper. I nearly felt my knees give way.

Slowly, yet fluidly, she closed the gap between us. No longer the self-conscious human girl, she moved with the grace of an immortal. She reached for the skin of my cheek, but sensing my alarm, stopped her hand, dropping it low in front of her. It remained open; an invitation.

I couldn't take it. I was afraid to look at her anymore, so certain I was that she'd see through me, to realize at last that the magical façade was the skin of a killer.

Eyes still downcast, I walked past her to the very centre of the meadow, where the sun's rays were warmest. Sinking into the grass, I waited for my love, my prey, to come to me.

Heaven. Or the closest I'd ever get to it, surely. I feared I'd fallen into some cruel and sleepless dream because I'd done nothing to deserve this peace—this happiness. Everything about this time and this place was just too perfect to be real.

For some unfathomable reason, merciful God had let an angel wander into my garden. I didn't need to open my eyes to be sure she was still there. Sweet, sentient angel: I heard her breathing, her heartbeat, and I smelled the essence of her precious life. It was more heavenly to me than the nectar of any flower.

I'd be grateful for the memory of all this when I was finally cast back where I belonged. It had to happen sometime, though I was in no hurry to about to bring it about. I was content to just lie here, warm and nearly alive in the midday sun.

If I couldn't sleep, having an angel watch over my daydreams was the next best thing. What a day . . .

_Such a perfect day . . . I'm glad I spent it with you . . . oh, such a perfect day, you just keep me hanging on . . ._

"Are you all right?" she murmured. I opened my eyes, marveling she could be brave enough to come so close. Her skin was suffused in the rainbow glow coming off mine.

"Your lips were trembling."

I'd been humming to myself. I'd thought the sound would have been too low for her to hear, but she was full of surprises. Not the least of was that she found me beautiful. How did she see that?

My barefoot angel sat cross-legged, eating chocolate. She'd wolfed down everything my mother had packed for her, now she nibbled the last of the confection, savouring it like the rarest delicacy. Some of it had melted on her thumb. When she licked it off, I found myself wanting to lunge at her. _And then what? _I sighed: how base I still was.

There were no more sweets left for the sweet, but she didn't seem to care. Her eyes hadn't left my sparkling skin. Tentatively, as if fearing she'd hurt me, she reached out a finger to stroke the back of my hand where it lay within her reach. The exquisite shock of it shot fire to my core, making my breathing hitch, but I didn't want her to stop.

"It doesn't repulse you?" I asked when I was able to speak again. I still couldn't believe it. We both looked at the place where her skin met mine. Pink on white. Silk on stone.

"No," she whispered. "It's like magic."

"The Quileutes think your family makes black magic," she continued after a pause. "That you cast spells so people can't see you as you are."

That wasn't true: if there was magic in this place today, it was her doing. She'd melted the ice of my frozen heart.

But how did their legend go?_ A terrible beauty, lit by hellfire to send men blind_. I supposed there was some truth to every tall tale.

"Is that what Jacob Black told you?" I felt my heart ice over again as I spoke that boy's name. Why?

"He doesn't believe the legends." So protective she was. _As if his innocence excused his loose tongue!_ "I think his dad does, though. He was acting kind of weird after he saw you the other night."

He'd been afraid I'd bewitched her . . .

"Did your family really come here before—like, a long time ago?"

"This place has been good to us." I really didn't know what else to say.

She continued to stroke my hand, and a mischievous smile graced her lips.

"I can see why"-the sun broke through brief cloud, making my skin sparkle again-"Anywhere else, _this_ would be kind of . . . distracting."

I had to agree the pigmentation was a handicap in sunnier climes.

"But it would be cool if you could make it do that whenever you wanted, don't you think?"

"Like crossing your eyes? Or wiggling your ears?"

"Or touching your nose with the tip of your tongue." She smirked. "You can probably do all that anyway, can't you?"

I shrugged.

"I can't do that stuff. Not naturally, anyway."

"Everybody's good at something." I knew she was talented.

"Well . . . when I was little, I could suck on my own big toe." She looked embarrassed. "I guess that's kind of gross." And then she seemed to be deciding something.

"I can do one thing," she finally offered. "It's not cool, though."

Intrigued, I sat up.

"I don't know if it'll work," she warned. "I'm not warmed up."

"Show me."

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"Please?" I was becoming weary of begging.

"Okay," she sighed, blowing the air out of her cheeks and laying down on her back with her knees bent.

She placed her fingers near her shoulders, pointing in the direction of her hips, taking time to breathe. Then she lifted her hips and pushed back onto the crown of her head. With another breath, she pushed, arcing her spine and straightening her arms to lift into the full position: wheel pose.

She stayed like that for nearly a minute, breathing calmly in and out. Her blouse became untucked from her jeans and I watched it creep up her torso, revealing the white skin of her belly, the coil of her navel. It made my mouth water. I was afraid that this was the moment I'd have to use one of the escape plans Alice and I had discussed.

She tucked in her chin and lowered her body with perfect control, easing out of the pose by hugging her knees into her chest and rocking slowly from side to side. Then she released her legs to lie like a corpse against the grass.

Pleased with herself, she gave a little laugh. "I didn't think I'd be able to do it, wearing jeans and all . . . What?" she demanded, clutching her knees again. "It was lame, right?"

"No." I was adamant.

She smiled shyly. "I haven't practiced since I came to Forks."

"Why?"

"I haven't wanted to. I've been too sad."

I ached to hold her to me, but she rocked herself protectively again: once, twice, and then up to standing.

"Do you come here often?" she asked when she'd walked a little away.

"It's nicest in spring and summer."

She nodded, brushing grass off her jeans, then walked towards a stand of wildflowers Kneeling, she began picking blooms at random.

"What about in winter? Does it snow up here then?"

"Yes. A lot."

She returned to sit very close to me, carrying a posy. I sucked in a wave of her scent, praying she didn't hear me swallow the venom.

"Which one of these is the first to bloom?"

"This." I plucked a white blossom from between her fingers.

"Do you know its name?"

"_Galanthus_. Snowdrop."

"And this?" She held up a deep pink one.

"Indian Plum." I used its common name.

"What's this one called?" She showed me a tiny purple orchid.

"Fairyslipper."

That made her smile. "So pretty."

Not as pretty as her. They were showy baubles at best. I took the flower and held it under her nose.

"Hm. I don't think it smells like fairy's feet."

"No?"

She chuckled, blushing again. "I'm not sure what they'd smell like," she admitted.

I traced the contours of her face with the petals, from the little dip under her nose out to her cheekbone. She closed her eyes, smiling. I brushed it across the hairline until I could tuck it behind her ear then sat back, admiring the decoration. Content, she rocked forward, resting her chin on her knees.

I lay back in the warm grass again, at ease with a human for the first time in my existence. We stayed like that for an endless age. I felt the movement of the sun, and the comfort of her heartbeat. Nothing else mattered.

I opened my eyes to see her studying me once more.

"I don't scare you?" I still really couldn't believe it.

"No more than usual."

My grin encouraged her to come closer. Her trembling hand stretched out, and she traced the contours of my forearm with her fingertips.

"Do you mind?" she asked, for I'd closed my eyes again. The fire licking through my veins was becoming intense.

"No," I sighed. "You can't imagine how that feels."

Emboldened, she lightly trailed her hand over the rest of my arm following the inside crease of the elbow, and with her other, reached to turn my hand over. Realizing what she wanted, I flipped my palm up—too fast though. She jumped.

"Sorry," I murmured, watching her fingers freeze on my arm. "It's too easy to be myself when I'm with you."

Relieved, she lifted my hand, turning it this way and that. She held it close to her face, watching the sun glitter off my palm. What was she trying to see?

"Tell me what you're thinking," I begged again. "It's still so strange for me, not knowing."

"You know, the rest of us feel that way all the time," she pointed out.

"It's a hard life," I acknowledged. "But you didn't tell me."

"I _was_ wishing I could know what you were thinking . . . " She hesitated.

"And?"

"I wanted to believe you were real. And that I wasn't afraid."

"I don't want you to be afraid." What I wanted was the one thing I could never promise: that there was no need for her to be afraid.

"That's not exactly the fear I meant," she contradicted. "Though it's certainly something to think about."

I half-sat up, propped on my right arm. My left hand was still in hers, my face close, so close. It was all right. I could see the green and gold flecks amongst the deepest brown of her irises.

"What are you afraid of, then?" I just had to know.

She didn't answer. Maybe she couldn't: she seemed mesmerized. Her eyes closed and she leaned in close, inhaling, exhaling. In that second I inhaled too, and smelled chocolate on her lips, her breath. I was dizzy.

And her _throat_. God, her throat. So close to my mouth—so dangerously close. She was offering it to me!

I could see the minute pulse of the vein—a nanosecond's throb after the heartbeat. A quick slice would be all it'd take for the hot and throbbing essence to gush—more vital, more intoxicating than any draught of Bacchus. Oh, I wanted it so!

Her heart trembled, and I felt it like her chest was pressed up against my own. It beat for me. It burned for me. As I for her . . .

Her lips parted. Mine too.

She offered herself . . .

Mine.

My precious.

My life.

_Such a perfect day,  
Problems all left alone  
Weekenders on our own,  
It's such fun._

_Just a perfect day,  
you made me forget myself.  
I thought I was someone else,  
someone good._

_You're going to reap just what you sow . . ._

* * *

_**Oops, I did it again... **_

**Man, these two just can't get a break, can they? Poor boy, I think he just has to kiss her soon or he'll spontaneously combust. That is, if he hasn't already killed her... yikes!**

**As always, I'm eager to find out what you think. Drop me a line, even if it's only to say "Woodlily, you take way too long to update."**


	20. Beloved

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification.**

**Many thanks to the awesome Lezlee, who betad this over the Easter weekend even though she still had to go to class on Monday. You rock, Hun.**

* * *

**A/N:** So: the 'crappy first draft' still eludes me, but I _am_ getting better with the self-editing thing. This writing work is a learning process and believe me, I'm my own worst critic. Once again, I thank you all for your patience.

Be warned that I've used a lot of canon dialogue in this chapter. That being said, I felt that some of the language Edward originally used in this scene subtly indicated he blamed Bella for his near-loss of control, and I took issue with that. I've changed it to suit my purposes where necessary.

**Playlist:**  
"Together Alone": grooveshark # ! / playlist /Together + Alone /51792267

* * *

_"To bite, or not to bite?" That was Edward's dilemma when last we left him. We return to find out what happened next..._

* * *

**BELOVED**

For an instant, I was immolated.

Then I was gasping, reflexively swallowing the gush of venom, trying to choke the terrible conflagration—the burning need. I felt my jaws snap shut, curbing the desire to slice through soft flesh. And though I burned, a great shiver passed through me.

Gradually, I became aware of my surroundings, finding myself anchored to a tree with all ten fingers buried deep into the bark. I realized that I'd leaped into the shade on the other side of the clearing, realized too that I'd nearly bitten through my tongue, and that the staccato beat throbbing in my head was coming from elsewhere—from a live and pounding heart twenty feet away.

I was afraid to move. Or breathe. Bella's scent hung heavy in my head. And my heart.

But not on my lips.

A soft whimper came from the centre of the clearing. There was movement too, and another wave of scent hit me, then . . . the glorious, delicious after burn I'd come to love. Trembling with relief, I finally let myself inhale... exhale.

We'd come to the precipice. I'd almost fallen.

In my waking nightmares, I'd visualized this moment hundreds, no, _thousands_ of times—and always it ended horrifically. Yet she'd just offered me her life, and I'd let her keep it. Somehow, I'd been strong enough.

She was alive. She was alive, but did she know how close to death she'd just come?

_You made me forget myself. I thought I was someone else . . ._

She'd done nothing of the sort. It was my fault; I'd deliberately pushed the envelope. How could I have been so complacent?

But her scent! It hadn't affected me like that in weeks. Why'd she have to come so close? I'd had no warning-

_That's no excuse._ _You should have been prepared._

She sat exactly where I'd left her, staring at me with wide eyes. Her face was white with shock, but her expression was more bereft than afraid. Confused, I flexed the fingers of my right hand, and reached it into my pocket for the bottle cap.

"I'm . . . sorry . . . Edward." Her whisper was so frail that if I hadn't seen her lips move, I could have imagined it.

Why was she apologizing? She'd done nothing wrong. None of this was her fault; it was mine. I wasn't safe! I _wasn't!_

"Give me a moment," I requested, for I certainly did not feel safe. My breathing was almost normal, but I was still afraid to loosen my other hand from the tree trunk.

She continued to stare at me, her expression beseeching _what did I do_? I felt unreasonably angry. At myself?Not at her, never at was as blind as ever, unable to see the monster beneath the sparkling façade. She should not pity me.

_Why hadn't she run? Thank God she hadn't run . . . _

Still trembling—not that she could see it—I let go of the tree trunk and took a cautious step forward, tasting the air. Her scent beckoned me in a sweet breeze.

My advance across that small space was painfully slow; in my mind's eye I kept seeing the moment she'd offered her throat, and it staggered me. Did she see how my steps faltered? Of course she did . . .

Still a pace or two away, I sank to the ground in half-lotus, and let myself take another breath. The proximity was bearable. Another breath. In and out . . . This was good: I just prayed she'd stay still for both our sakes.

She did—still gazing at me pitifully. I was wracked with shame. My poor Bella; it had been so close. I should have been prepared. I should have known better.

I smiled tentatively. "I am so very sorry." My voice sounded strange. So stilted. "Would you understand what I meant if I said I was only human?" Was that really me speaking? I felt my mask slipping.

And she nodded, understanding the danger at last. I could hear it in her shattering heartbeat; I could smell it in the adrenaline pulsing through her veins. I swallowed back the urge to pounce, to bite. The monster smiled.

And she saw that . . . as she saw everything. So I let the mask slip completely.

_See me then, little human. _

"I'm the world's best predator, aren't I?" I mocked. "Everything about me invites you in—my voice, my face, even my _smell_. As if I need any of that!"

And then I was on my feet, circling that tiny meadow at lightning speed, showing off my speed and strength like some ridiculous cartoon super-villain. As if she could outrun me. Or fight me off! I wanted to frighten her—to drive her away because I didn't have the strength to leave her myself.

It was a futile display.

"I'm here." She rose to her feet with outstretched hands. "I trust you."

_I accept you as you are._

The bravery in her quaking voice pierced my heart, and I came to a screeching halt. I was close enough to see her trembling. I could feel it as I took her chin between my thumb and forefingers.

"Don't." _Please don't. Run away while you still can—while I let you._ I could snap her neck with a flick of my wrist and she knew it. Oh yes, she saw me now.

And she knew I couldn't hurt her; I saw it in her eyes. And somehow, I believed it too—if only for a moment. God, I loved her. I didn't _want_ to hurt her! I didn't want her to fear me. My existence was nothing without her.

"Don't be afraid," I murmured. "I promise"—if I made an oath, I'd have to keep my word—"I _swear_ not to hurt you." And I knew I wouldn't. I'd made up my mind.

I realized it was as simple as that.

It should've been a joyful moment, but it wasn't. I knew she'd still suffer because of me. Maybe not today—but one day she would. Because I couldn't stay away. I was bound by this love that was never meant to be.

But if I was bound, I was a willing captive.

She followed me back to the centre of the meadow—to the sunlight—sinking to her knees in the long grass just as I did. The maiden in the demon's garden. Our faces were on the same level, just like before.

"Please forgive me," I begged when she'd finally stopped trembling. "That was entirely my fault." She frowned, not seeming to understand. "I was caught off guard, but I'm in control now. It won't happen again."

What could I do to alleviate her fear? The corner of my mouth turned up. "I'm not thirsty today, honestly."

Her laugh sounded like a gasp of relief. There was no doubt she understood what could have happened if I _had_ been thirsty, but she wouldn't have blamed me for it. She would've forgiven me.

She may have been a feeble human, but she was strong and so very brave. She was so much better than me, in every way. She truly was an angel—a soft and fragile one. Her heart was fluttering and I saw she was trembling again, just a little.

"Are you all right?" I asked, reaching out slowly, carefully placing my hand back in hers. Her fingers curled around mine, squeezing softly like a baby's reflex.

I gazed down at our joined hands and then back into her eyes. They were wide and soft, bearing the same look I'd seen in the eyes of every doe I'd slaughtered. But she smiled at me, nevertheless. She gave me courage.

"So where were we, before I behaved so rudely?" I prompted gently.

"I honestly can't remember."

So much for 'dazzling' her; I felt truly ashamed. "I think we were talking about why you were afraid, besides the obvious reason."

"Oh, right," she replied sheepishly.

"Well?" I asked. What could she be embarrassed about now? She remained silent for an excruciatingly long time. Or maybe it just seemed that way. I cursed my impatience because I could tell she was having trouble articulating her response.

She dropped her eyes and began tracing aimlessly across my palm with her finger. The pleasure of her hot touch knifed through me, but I wouldn't be distracted.

"I was afraid," she finally answered. "Because, for, well, obvious reasons, I can't _stay_ with you. And I'm afraid that I'd like to do that, much more than I should."

"Yes," I agreed. "That is something to be afraid of, isn't it? Wanting to be with me is not really in your best interest."

"I know that." She frowned stubbornly.

"I should have left a long time ago," I sighed. "I should leave now, but I don't know if I can."

"I don't want you to." Petulant now.

"And that's exactly why I should. But don't worry: I'm essentially a selfish creature. I crave your company too much to do what I should."

"I'm glad."

"Don't be!" I withdrew my hand gently, not wanting to frighten her again, but couldn't keep the anguish from choking my voice. "It's not only your company I crave. Never forget that. Never forget that I'm more dangerous to you than I am to anyone else."

I stared into the forest, abstractedly. _The world's best predator, indeed . . _. My family knew exactly how dangerous I was to her, but they'd still trusted me do this on my own. My phone hadn't gone off once. Had Alice seen I would make the right choice after all?

"I don't think I understand exactly what you mean"-Bella interrupted my reverie-"by that last part anyway."

Her innocent curiosity never failed to make me smile. "How can I explain it without frightening you again? Hmm . . . I wonder . . . " I replaced my hand between hers; it made me happy to feel her welcome it with a tight squeeze.

"You know how everyone enjoys different flavours?" I posited. "You like chocolate, others prefer vanilla?"

I apologized for the food analogy but I really couldn't think of a better one.

"To us, every person smells different—has a different essence. What appeals to one may leave someone else completely indifferent." I wasn't sure if the comparison I had in mind next was any better, but I tried it out. "If you locked an alcoholic in a room full of stale beer, he'd gladly drink it. But he could resist, if he wished to, if he was a recovering alcoholic. Now let's say you placed in that room a glass of the rarest, finest cognac—and filled it with its warm aroma—how do you think he'd fare then?"

I stared at her, willing her to understand.

"Maybe that's not the right comparison. Instead of flavours and scents, perhaps we should be talking about narcotics . . . Do you know anything about heroin addiction?"

She shrugged.

"For some people, it only takes one hit."

"So, you're saying that I'm like heroin to you?" She was trying to lighten the mood but I appreciated her effort.

"Perfect cut, perfect quality. Yes, you are _exactly_ like high-grade heroin to me."

"Does that happen often?"

"For me, never." Not even the blood of that man—the one whose ghost I'd summoned in her room the other night—had called to me the way hers did. "But I spoke to my brothers about it . . . "

And now there was a fine balance to strike. Though I desperately wanted her to understand me there so much of my life that was just too dangerous for her to know about right now—especially in light of what Alice had seen.

On the other hand, I didn't want to minimize our struggles either. I told her how difficult Jasper found it to abstain—that he hadn't yet had time to grow sensitive to the nuances of human scent. He wasn't sure if he'd ever met anyone who appealed to him so intensely.

Despite that, I knew full well she and I wouldn't be having this conversation right now had he been in my shoes that day. I felt bad for thinking that, even if it was true.

And Emmett: so disciplined now, so strong. He'd quit hunting humans so Rosalie would marry him but he wasn't immune to the bloodlust. The farmer's wife hanging out her laundry one summer morning seventy years ago never even saw him coming.

There was a small part of me even then that admired him for taking what he wanted and not feeling guilty. At least she hadn't suffered. Not like that human years later who'd tried in vain to fight him off. He still felt remorseful for that. And he was right: the clean up job _was_ messy.

Still, without knowing our history, my attempt to defend him must have rung hollow in Bella's ears.

"Is there no hope, then?" she asked quietly. How calmly she discussed her own death!

"No, no! Of course there is. I mean, of course I won't-" I refused to resign her—_to resign us_—to that fate. "It's different for us. Emmett . . . those were strangers he happened across. It was a long time ago, and he wasn't as . . . practiced, as careful as he is now."

I watched her intently as she thought that through.

"So if we'd met in a dark alley or something . . ."

"It took everything I had not to jump up in the middle of that class full of children and"-I couldn't say those words; I wouldn't even let myself think them anymore-"When you walked past me, I could have ruined everything Carlisle had built for us, right then and there. If I hadn't been denying my thirst for the last, well, too many years, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself.

"It was like you were some kind of demon, summoned straight from my own personal hell to ruin me. I thought the fragrance coming off your skin would make me deranged that first day. In that one hour, I thought of a hundred ways to lure you from the school, to get you alone. And I fought them all back, thinking of my family, and what my selfishness would do to them. I knew that I had to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow . . ."

I raised my eyes to hers once more. "You would have come."

And she knew it was the truth. She shivered in the warm sun, seeing her memories anew, through my eyes. It gave me the courage to tell her about what it had been like for me all this time—enduring the terrible longing, fighting to master myself, every hour of every day.

And as I spoke, I truly understood what had driven me in those early days. I'd always been ashamed of my flight to Alaska, but I realized now I'd been obeying a primal instinct to keep her safe. I'd knew now I'd run to the ends of the earth if that's what it took.

And when I saved her from being crushed by Tyler's van, it wasn't because I feared her spilled blood would ignite my frenzy. I wasn't thinking about protecting my family either. Even then, somehow I realized that my life, such as it was, would be unendurable if she no longer existed.

There was all that, but there was so much more that I was only beginning to understand. For example, how could I have known my careful observations of her routine would become so obsessive—or that my subterfuge, my eavesdropping, would cause me to fall under her spell?

Yes, I may have been the top predator, but it was what I learned about _her_ that drew _me_ in. Her intelligence, her thoughtfulness, even her bad jokes endeared her to me. And her awkwardness made me all the more protective of her.

Then curiosity gave way to compassion, finally blooming and bursting in my heart, awakening feelings that had always lain dormant. I had no idea what was happening until I looked at her with new eyes that Valentine's Day and realized the impossibility of what I felt. What I wanted. And I had something new to hate myself for. It was obscene that I wanted her in that way, but I couldn't help it.

Of course my fear made me seem insufferably rude. Night and day, she was all I thought about, but I could only express my impossible love with clumsy actions and words she took as insult. Until that night in Port Angeles that changed everything.

But for all that, I'd have fared better if I _had_ exposed us all in that school parking lot, then if now, here—with no witnesses and nothing to stop me—I were to hurt her.

"Why?" she wondered when I told her so.

"Isabella." I loved to speak her given name aloud; it was a melody to me. "Bella, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. The thought of you, still, white, cold . . . to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretences—it would be unendurable . . . You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever."

She sucked in a gasp of air, blushing on cue as she realized what I was saying. She looked down again; she would never look at me when she was thinking. It was maddening.

"You already know how I feel of course," she finally whispered. No, I didn't. I hadn't a clue. I could only guess how she felt and I was invariably wrong when I did. "I'm here, which, roughly translated, means I'd rather die than stay away from you."

_I'd always suspected she was suicidal . . ._ I suppressed a frown: I couldn't allow myself to have those kinds of thoughts anymore.

"So, what brought you here, Bella?"

She frowned, freeing a hand to pull nervously at the grass. "Um, idiocy?" she guessed, with a little laugh.

"I want to know . . ." she began, then chewed her lower lip and tore her gaze away. She was having trouble finding the right words again.

"I'm afraid," she finally admitted. "But I'm afraid for all the wrong reasons, and I want to know why that is."

I had no answer for her.

"That first day, I couldn't understand what made you hate me so quickly."

I nodded grimly. "You must have thought I was possessed."

"The other kids had already dished me the gossip about your family. I'd heard jealous talk like that before. Nobody could be that rich and that good looking without being totally screwed up, right?"

That was certainly the gist of the most innocuous gossip circulating about us. She would have heard the rest of it by now.

"I couldn't believe you'd even noticed me enough to hate me. I mean, I'm _nobody_. Then, when you weren't busy saving my life, you were telling me that you didn't want to be my friend or pretending to ignore me for my own good . . . "

She sighed. "And every day, I'd sit down beside you and your fist would clench and you'd stop breathing"-_she saw that too?_-"and I wondered if I hurt you somehow." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"Either that, or I smelled really bad," she chuckled.

"I didn't believe Jacob's story at first. He was only trying to impress me. I knew your family couldn't be what the legends claimed you were, but by then it was obvious that there was_ something_ different about you." She smirked then looked up apologetically. "But, there are no such things as monsters, right?"

"Yet, here you are. And I know I should be afraid of you, but I'm not. Because you're no monster."

"What are you afraid of, then?" I wanted her to get to the point, but I was becoming frightened myself of what she might be about to tell me.

She kept plucking at the grass: her reach made the hem of her blouse rise at the shoulder, and I watched a sprinkling of tiny freckles peek out from underneath. I wanted to touch her skin there.

"I'm only afraid of losing you. I feel like at any moment you're going to disappear, or I'm going to wake up and all of this"-she gestured round us- "will be a dream. . . Like I said, I'm an idiot."

"You are an idiot," I agreed, and we laughed at the idiocy and sheer impossibility of that moment. But here we were, predator and prey, lying down together. Only in my unattainable dreams had I ever contemplated we'd find peace like this.

"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb," I murmured, serious now. I still couldn't say those three words to her directly. They seemed so paltry in the face of what I was feeling.

Maybe she felt that way too; she continued the metaphor with a sigh and a little smile. "What a stupid lamb." She glanced shyly up from beneath her lashes.

I grinned. "What a sick, masochistic lion."

"And did he who made the lamb make thee?" No longer shy, she took both my hands in hers. There was no doubt in her wide, honest eyes, and her voice did not waver when she assured me,

"I know he did."

We stayed like that for a while, just watching the movements of our joined hands—fingers threading, pressing, releasing, and joining again. It took both of her hands just to hold one of mine. Their movement reminded me of a butterfly's wings. That's the way I thought of her. A butterfly. Soft, and just as fragile.

She was the one to break the silence.

"I was right before when I said that I hurt you. That's why you ran from me, isn't it?"

She was more right than she knew, but it wasn't her fault. And the burn of her blood was nothing compared to the anguish I'd put myself through, the guilt for my unholy longings.

But her expression was earnest. "I want to help, if I can, not to make this harder for you. This, for example"-she stroked the back of my hand-"seems to be all right."

It was more than all right. In fact, I'd never derived such exquisite heat from a human body like this before. Not without bloodshed. I had to concentrate to come up with an explanation.

"Well . . . it was really just how close you were. Most humans instinctively shy away from us; they're repelled by how alien we seem . . . I wasn't expecting you to come so close." That was true, but it wasn't what made me run. "It was the smell of your _throat_-" I stopped short, not wanting to upset her, but if I had, she'd deliberately ignored it.

"Okay, then." And she tucked her chin to her shoulders like a turtle retreating into its shell. "No throat exposure."

I had to laugh. "No, really, it was more the surprise than anything else." And I was becoming used to the closeness now; I could show her that.

I placed my free hand gently on the side of her neck, touching the place where her pulse was strongest. Wisely, she sat very still, but her body's reaction to my cold touch was nearly my undoing. Breath and blood cascaded through her veins, a warning under my fingertips. It was difficult, but I held fast. I wouldn't run away.

"You see," I assured. "Perfectly fine." It wasn't true when I said it, but the longer I kept my hand there, the easier it became.

And as my natural responses ebbed, I began to enjoy her reaction to my touch. It was always a pleasure to watch the blush flood her cheeks, but to see it flowing down her throat to pool in that fragrant hollow between her collarbones—the place I loved so much . . . I knew that as long as I lived I'd never see anything as beautiful.

I freed my other hand and brushed her fiery cheek with my thumb. I wanted to take her face between my hands, to drink her in—to feast on her loveliness. And I found myself doing it even as I thought about it.

_Was it safe? _

She was a rare wild creature to me and I would never hurt her. I would protect her.

"Be very still," I whispered.

Keeping our eyes locked, I let myself lean closer, closer. Her breath hitched as I ducked my head, but she remained blessedly still even as my cold cheek met the skin at the base of her throat. My God, the intensity of the scent there! It was more heavenly than I'd ever imagined. I'd wanted to claim that place as mine—to mark it—but there was no urge to bite anymore. Only to breathe her essence in and out . . . in and out . . . perhaps I breathed for us both.

Slowly, still wary of frightening her, I let my hands drifted down the sides of her neck, coming to rest at her clavicle. My thumb fit perfectly into that space, just like I knew it would. She was perfect—made just for me. My face drifted to the side, my nose skimming her collarbone. It came to rest against the softness of her chest. I listened to her heart beat for me, each one a small, throbbing victory cry.

I could have listened for hours.

Gradually, I became aware that the heat I felt was no longer caused by the heat in my throat. It came from a quickening much lower down.

She couldn't have felt _that_, but she was certainly affected by my closeness. Her heartbeat accelerated, her scent taking on that tantalizing, mysterious edge again. It was mouthwatering. And though it was surely suicide, I held fast.

I found didn't want to let go, but all too soon it was necessary.

"Was that very hard for you?" she asked as I released her.

"Not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be." I was actually ecstatic. All it had taken was making up my mind that I _could_ do it, and I did. Mind over matter; that was all.

"And for you?"

I was actually thinking of her comfort, but she blushed. "No, it wasn't bad . . . for me." Now we _were_ talking at cross-purposes again.

"You know what I mean," I chuckled.

But she had to know about the most intriguing result of this experiment; she had to feel it for herself. I took her hand and placed it against my cheek.

"Here." How effortless it was to touch like this now. "Do you feel how warm it is?" And it was warm. _I_ was warm. Alive. The heat of her vital essence flowed through me as if I'd drunk it.

She gave a little gasp and her fingers spread apart, covering, heating my already warm skin further. They began to explore beyond the warmth, blessing, caressing every feature of my face. She stroked my cheek, my eyelid, and then the slope of my nose. It felt like a benediction. My lips parted as her fingertips drifted across them; I couldn't help it. I prepared to quell the urge to bite, but the other hunger clenched my body again. Here, in this place, it felt natural.

"May I?" she asked.

Her fingers threaded themselves into the hair at my temple, stroking, sliding through the strands. I felt her smooth a cowlick down then heard her chuckle as it sat right up again. It was almost too much; I had to close my eyes to everything but what she was doing.

All too soon, she dropped her hand and leaned away. Sensibly, she didn't want to push me too far, but restraint wasn't what I wanted. When I opened my eyes, I saw the same hunger that coursed through me reflected in her eyes.

_To die upon a kiss. _

How was it possible that two such disparate desires could coexist within me? I wished there was some way to make her understand the complexity, the confusion I felt. She seemed to understand the hunger—the thirst—that, deplorable creature that I was, I felt for her, and she seemed to understand that, but "I'm not used to feeling so human," I admitted. "Is it always like this?"

"For me?" She paused. "No, never. Never before this."

I grasped her hands between mine once more. "I want to be close to you, but . . . I don't know if I can."

She leaned forward very slowly, cautioning me with her eyes again, and just as I'd done before, she placed her head against my chest.

"This is enough," she sighed relaxing into me.

I was wrong before when I'd thought that Heaven was to lie at her feet on the grass. This was my heaven now. I'd been resurrected. In gratitude, I wrapped my arms around her, pressing my lips into her hair.

"You're better at this than you give yourself credit for," I heard her mumble.

"I have human instincts"—did she feel my lips curl into a smile against her skin?—"they may be buried deep, but they're there."

We sat like that for hours, talking about important things—and about inconsequential things. And then we didn't need to talk about anything at all. It was enough just to have her in my arms. It was enough to listen to the sounds of the forest and the rhythm of her breath, the Morse code of her heartbeat that told me everything was all right in this world. In our place.

Ours. No longer mine.

She seemed content to let me press my lips against the hair at the crown of her head, and for a long while it was enough just to do that. I loved the smell of strawberries, salt, and grass. I closed my eyes, burying my nose in the silken strands, opening them to watch the prisms of sunshine dance through warm mahogany.

And she let me stroke the soft skin of her shoulders, assuring me that the goose bumps rising under my touch were not because she was cold. I'd never felt velvet like her skin. I wanted to know how many faint freckles there were on her shoulder blades; one day, I would count them all. I liked the sound of those words: one day.

And then it was no longer enough just to touch her like that, or just to kiss the top of her head. Would it be safe to put my lips elsewhere? Would she get cold? Was it too close to-?

_Mind over matter, _I reminded myself.

She stirred in my arms, as if sensing the change of direction my thoughts had taken. "What are you thinking?"

I turned her palm over, rubbing it with my thumb. "I was thinking," I swallowed. "That there was something I wanted to try."

And then we were facing one another, knee to knee. Hero's pose. She was demure, not looking at me until I took her face between my hands again, hesitating . . . I needed to be sure I was still in control. Her look told me to go ahead.

Softer, sweeter-tasting than I'd dreamed, her lips were twin pillows of flame against mine. I was prepared for that. It was bearable—it was more than bearable—it was good. I was prepared for the rising blood haze. I knew how to keep myself in check.

But I was not prepared for her response. She gasped wildly and her fingers were in my hair again, twining, pulling, knotting themselves in. Had I been human, it might have hurt a little. She clutched me to her; her breasts pressed and moved against my chest. I found myself grasping the collar of her shirt; my knuckles rasped her collarbone.

With a soft moan her lips parted, and I breathed in the scent of chocolate and flowers and blood. I wanted more. I wanted to swipe my tongue between them, to enter and taste, but was instantly aware of my razor sharp teeth, inches from that sacred vein. Its goading pulse throbbed in my head. The haze thickened.

It was too much.

My jaw clamped shut. I had to disengage for the safety of us both. Mustering what restraint I could, I pushed her back, my breathing ragged.

"Oops." Her hand flew to her lips. Her chest rose and fell in time with my own.

"That's an understatement," I muttered through my clenched teeth.

She seemed as shocked by her reaction as me; she tried to disengage herself and give me some room but I kept her locked in my arms.

"No, no, it's tolerable." I knew I could ride this through. "Wait a moment, please."

The need abated as I took in deep breaths of air. I met her gaze, surprised—pleased. My recovery period had been much quicker than I'd anticipated.

She peered at me, brow furrowed with concern. "Tolerable?" she asked, so solemnly that I couldn't suppress an impish grin.

"I'm stronger than I thought. It's nice to know."

She rolled her eyes. "Wish I could say the same."

"You _are_ only human after all."

She smirked. Then I felt her shiver in my arms.

"You're cold." Not because of me. The light in the forest was fading; shadows encroached the meadow.

"No, I'm good." But she shivered again so I draped her jacket around her shoulders.

"I should take you home."

She just hugged her knees to her chest, unhappily.

"How are your feet?" After she'd removed her socks and boots, she'd bathed her feet in the cold little creek.

She fanned her toes onto the grass and wiggled them, each one a tiny pearl. "No blisters." She smiled up at me.

She made no movement to put her footwear back on. I looked around, thinking . . . At the pace she walked it would take us ages to return to the truck. We'd get back to her place well after nightfall as it was.

"Can I show you something?" I asked.

"What?" She was instantly wary.

"Can I show you how _I _travel in the forest?" I grinned, watching her expression grow anxious. "Don't worry: you'll be quite safe, and we'll get back to your truck much faster."

"Will you turn into a bat?" she deadpanned.

I laughed. "Like I haven't heard that one before!"

"Right. I'm sure you get that all the time."

"Come on, little coward, climb on my back."

I smiled encouragingly and reached for her. Though her heart throbbed as I slung her on my back, I knew it was not from fear. I was definitely learning to read her. Her limbs clamped around my torso—another human would have felt them tighten like a vice, but I felt only the caress of her warm breath against my neck.

"I'm a bit heavier than your average backpack," she warned, and I laughed at the very notion. She was a featherweight!

Shifting her into a slightly more comfortable position, I grabbed her hand, impulsively pressing the palm into my face—reveling in the exquisite stabs of pleasure and pain chasing through my veins. I could get used to this.

"Easier all the time," I marvelled.

And then I was running.

* * *

**"Finally!" I hear you cry. "Finally, some action!"**

I agree: it was about time they kissed. I always thought it should have happened in the meadow too, not by Bella's truck. It's a sacred healing place for Edward and it holds so much symbolism. And that's the beauty of fanfiction: you're allowed to write the story the way you want to.

**As always, I'm eager to hear your comments-whatever they may be. We authors can't write in a vacuum. Feedback is our lifeblood (haha).**

XXXXXXXXXX

And before I go, I have a recommendation: The author is** AllTheOtherNamesAreUsed **and I've absolutely fallen in love with her story,** "Prelude in C"**. It's about the early years of the Cullen family, starting in 1918. You'd be hard-pressed to read a better Carlisle anywhere, and Edward is just SO seventeen. This is an award-winning story, and it's criminally under-reviewed.

Enjoy it here: fanfiction s / 6254265 / 1 /

**Until we meet again... ~W**


	21. Homecoming 1: Nocturne

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration. **

**Thank you to my beta, Lezlee, The Rock of my literary life.**

* * *

**A/N:** Hello. You didn't think I'd abandoned _Fox Fire_, did you? Fear not: I certainly haven't been idle. Those of you who read Emmett's interlude in "Counterpoints" got a glimpse of what was going on in the Cullen household while Edward and Bella were in the meadow. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed—your comments were gold.

This new chapter is a behemoth. Luckily, there's a natural split in the drama so I can give you the first part now. The 'coda', I'll post once it's been tweaked a little.

_Let's rejoin our lovebirds as they return to Forks . . ._

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**  
Liebestraum III – Franz Liszt  
Throw Your Arms Around Me – Hunters & Collectors

* * *

**HOMECOMING 1: NOCTURNE**

_(**Nocturne:** an instrumental composition of a pensive, dreamy mood, especially one for the piano...)_

"You're sure you're not cold? I could put the heat on," I offered.

"No, really, it's okay. The fresh air's nice." Her face was turned into the breeze coming through the half-open window, but she'd zipped her jacket right up. At least she looked better now than she had back at the trailhead; I was relieved to see colour in her cheeks at last.

Maybe I was being overly solicitous, but I was also a bit chagrined. Piggybacking her through the forest like that hadn't been one of my better ideas; I should have known she'd suffer from motion sickness. She'd turned almost as white as _me!_ And she'd gotten so dizzy she couldn't even walk a straight line. It would have been the height of negligence to let her drive in that state. I was glad it wasn't difficult to convince her hand over the keys.

Perhaps my kissing prowess had weakened her beforehand. I'd kept myself in check, but she'd certainly expended a lot of energy grasping at me like that. Who'd have thought her capable of that kind of onslaught? _Still waters, indeed_. I chuckled to myself: how easily humans were swayed by their emotions.

But the kiss! I'd never imagined how one simple act of contact could be so sensuous—so much more than skin moving on skin. I heard my quick intake of breath as an echo of the desire I'd felt back in the meadow coursed through me again.

And always—like a parasitic twin—my desire for her blood seethed beneath, just one heartbeat away. I only needed to look down at our hands, interlaced together on the seat, to know that no temptation was insurmountable any more.

Mind over matter. In the end, it really had been just that simple.

She smiled sweetly as I stole another glance at her, my gaze lingering for a second on her lips. Yes, now that I knew what to expect I was certain we could safely kiss again.

And now that I knew what to expect from her truck, I had to acknowledge that it ran quite well, all things considered. It needed a proper stereo system, though. The only radio reception we could pick up out here was from an Oldies station. That suited me, but Bella just smirked as I turned up the volume. It was a song I hadn't heard played on the air in decades. She couldn't believe I knew all the lyrics; she'd never heard it before.

"Music in the 50's was good. It _was_," I maintained. "You just had to know where to find it."

I watched her lean back against the seat and run her hand through the crown of her hair. Mahogany tendrils waved at me, billowing around her face like a curtain.

"Who'd you say this was?"

"Eddie Cochran."

"Sounds like Elvis."

I chuckled. "Kind of, I suppose."

I didn't like her face being hidden from me. I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she surprised me as I did, catching my hand and pressing the back of it against her cheek. Spring sunshine, low on the horizon, bathed her skin with ruby sparkles.

She absently watched the scenery for a few moments before reaching to roll the window back up. Her expression was pensive.

"Are you ever going to tell me how old you are?" she asked, placing our intertwined hands back onto the seat.

I looked down at them again. I'd been hoping to avoid this question indefinitely actually. Age means nothing when you're immortal, but truth be told, for the first time in my hundred or so years, I _felt_ seventeen. I saw the world through new eyes; I knew what it was to be young and alive. In love.

"Does it matter much?"

"No, but I still wonder. There's nothing like an unsolved mystery to keep you up at night." She gave a wry grin.

Ah, but we were alike in that way. The mystery of her silent mind continued to perplex me. And on how many nights had I approached her bedroom window only to have to wait to enter as she herself stayed up late, researching legends of the Undead?

Moreover, exactly how much personal disclosure was necessary at this point in our relationship? I was compelled to be completely honest, but there was so much about my life could distress her—repel her, even. I decided to start with the basic facts.

"I was born in Chicago in 1901." Her expression was carefully patient; it gave me courage to continue. "I was an only child, and my parents loved me. My father wanted me to go to University and follow him into business afterwards, but when I was seventeen my only dream was to become a soldier.

"Pestilence and war go hand in hand, though. Soldiers returning from the Front in the spring of 1918 brought the Spanish Influenza with them, and it spread through the cities like wildfire. There were no vaccines back then. Carlisle found me in a hospital that autumn; I was dying.

"I don't remember it well," I added, hearing her stifled gasp. "It was a very long time ago, and human memories fade."

That much had been true until I'd met her. My human memories had begun returning with vivid persistence, and whether or not I was right, I believed it was because she'd resurrected the human in me.

"I do remember how it felt, when Carlisle saved me. It's not an easy thing. Not something you easily forget."

"Did it hurt?"

"It was excruciating." It was torture I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy.

"Your parents?"

"They'd already died from the disease. He'd ministered to them and knew I had no close living relatives. In all the chaos of the epidemic, no one ever realized I was gone."

"How did he . . . save you?"

_Was_ Carlisle my savior? He'd acted with the best intentions, but there'd been times I'd cursed him for what he'd done, times I'd wished I _had_ died instead. My early years were . . . difficult on us both, but he'd done the best he could under the circumstances. I knew that now.

But I wasn't about to provide her with the mechanics of my transformation. I didn't want her to think that becoming a vampire was a desirable aspiration, no matter what Alice had foreseen.

"It was difficult. Not many of us have the restraint necessary to accomplish it. But Carlisle has always been the most humane, the most compassionate amongst us . . . I don't think you could find his equal throughout all of history. He acted from loneliness. I was the first in his family, though he found Esme a few years later . . . "

"Do you have to be dying, then, . . . to become . . .?" She couldn't say the word.

"No, that's just Carlisle. He'd never do that to someone who had another choice." He'd thought about it, though, and if I'd asked him to, he would have done it for me.

"He says it's easier though, if the blood is weak." Easier on vampire and victim alike.

I told her how we came together as a family—how Rosalie, then Emmett, and Alice and Jasper found their places with us. It was a relief to have an outsider learn the truth, guarded though that truth was as I told it to her. I could never again accuse her of self-editing, that was for certain.

She didn't find out that Esme's fall from the cliff had been a suicide attempt, or that Rosalie had been violated and left for dead by her own fiancé. Nor was it the time or place to tell her that Jasper's former 'family' had been a loose alliance of cold-blooded killers, or that the first sounds Alice heard when she awoke to her new life were the tortured screams of lunatics.

Instead, she learned about the unbreakable bonds we shared with one another, and how they made our family strong. Without a doubt, we'd all saved one another in some way—from death, loneliness, or despair. We'd been meant to come together.

Of all my siblings, she was especially interested in Alice, probably because she already knew how close my sister and I were. Perhaps she'd also had some intuition of their future friendship as well—I can't be certain. I did wonder if it was a mistake though, to tell her that, like me, my sister had gifts above and beyond the norm for our kind.

"Like what?" she immediately wanted to know.

"Well, she _sees_ things—things that might happen, things that are coming. But it's all very subjective. The future isn't set in stone. And I found myself eying her furtively. "It can always . . . change."

"What kinds of things does she see?"

"She saw Jasper and knew that he was looking for her before he knew it himself. She saw Carlisle and our family, and they came together to find us."

She stared off into the gathering dusk, contemplating . . . "I bet she saw me coming."

My sister's dual visions of Bella's futures flashed before my eyes again, a tantalizing torment."Something like that," I finally muttered, feeling her gaze shift to me. She waited expectantly as I parked in her father's driveway. "She's most sensitive to non-humans," I said, turning off the ignition. "She'll know when another group of our kind is coming near, for example. And any threat they may pose."

"Are there many . . . like you?"

"No. But most won't settle in any one place. Only those like us, who've given up hunting you people"—I cast another sly glance at her—"can live together with humans for any length of time. We've only found one other family like ours, in a hamlet in Alaska. We lived together for a while, but there were so many of us that we became too noticeable. Those of us who live . . . differently tend to band together."

"And the others?"

That reminded me of the wanderers that Alice had been tracking for the past few months. She'd seen nothing of them lately. I hoped their paths had taken them elsewhere.

"Nomads, for the most part. We've all lived that way at times. It gets tedious. But we run across each other now and then. Most of us prefer the North."

"I can see why." She stroked the back of my hand. The skin no longer glowed because the sun had well and truly set behind the forest. The quiet suburban street was dark before moonrise.

"It's nice to be able to go outside in the day," I said. "You wouldn't believe how tired you can get of nighttime in eighty-odd years."

"Do you think that's where the legends came from?'

"Probably."

"What about Carlisle? You're all here because of him, but how does he fit in? Where does he come from?"

"England, originally. He wandered Europe for many years before he came to America." He'd wandered for centuries actually, coming to America shortly after the War of Independence. But that was a story for another time.

Her eyes widened again as she thought about that. "No wonder he was lonely . . . And after he created you, and Esme, and the rest . . . you still wandered, didn't you? I mean, the Quileutes have their legends about your family. And you lived in Alaska too."

"It's difficult to stay in any one place for more than a few years." It saddened me to think we'd probably have to move on again very soon. How could I possibly leave her now?

"Have you always lived in America?"

"Mostly. I visited England with Carlisle once. And I travelled in Europe on my own . . ." Though the time I'd spent in Europe while I subsisted on human blood had hardly been a holiday.

"I'd like to go to Europe one day." She sighed. "I've never been anywhere."

"Where would you go?"

"Everywhere. Can you imagine—of course you can; you've seen it already—all that history? Those great artists and writers . . . I'd never get tired of it."

She threw a disdainful glance outside. "Not like here."

She knew nothing of the ancient history of this place. The oral traditions of the First Nations were as rich as any in Europe, and predated them all by thousands of years. But that's not what she meant.

"I thought Forks was growing on you."

"I just meant that my life's pretty boring." She stared out the window again, blushing. "But, I _did_ choose to come back here. And things have become more interesting recently."

At that moment, her stomach growled loudly, causing her blush to deepen. Once again, I'd been remiss. We'd been late getting back, and it must have been well past time for her evening meal. The few handfuls of nuts and chocolate she'd eaten during the afternoon could hardly have kept her sated.

"I'm fine, really," she protested when I apologized for keeping her from dinner.

"I've never really spent much time around anyone who eats food," I explained. "I forget." I was prepared to escort her to the door and take my leave until I could return to be with her later that night.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked instead.

"Can I?"

"Yes." She looked pleased. "I warn you though, we're fresh out of mountain lion."

"I'll have to make do with your company, then." And I had the passenger door open for her in the blink of an eye.

"Hmm… very human," she complimented.

"It's definitely resurfacing."

I mounted the porch steps half a step behind her, floating in the lovely wake of her scent. I wasn't even sure I'd be bringing her back when we'd left this morning. Knowing that the sweet torture of her presence would be with me tomorrow, and tomorrow, and the day after that, made me happier than I'd ever been.

"I guess I don't really have to show you in." She arched an eyebrow, waving the ignition key in the air as she took it from me. "You already know your way around."

I just nodded sheepishly. As we passed the living room, I surreptitiously eyed the mantelpiece, satisfying myself that the photo of her and her father, taken at Disneyland, looked like it had never been disturbed.

I'd never spent any time in the kitchen but I couldn't help cringing as I entered, remembering the first day she'd come to school, and how I'd imagined circling the yard, slipping through the back door, and silently stalking her . . . pouncing on her as she prepared the evening meal . . . How far we'd come.

I took a seat at the small table and waited while she prepared herself something to eat. She put a slab of lasagna on a plate, but she didn't come to sit with me while it cooked. She just stood in front of the microwave, not taking her eyes from the plate as it revolved, filling the kitchen filled with the aroma of tomatoes and spices.

"And I guess that's another myth we can strike off the list," she said finally. "That vampires can only enter a human's home if they're invited in."

Something was wrong. Her voice was tight, her shoulders hunched. The beep marking the end of the cooking period sounded like a shrill alarm. Her hand trembled too as she extricated the plate and set it on the table. Still, she did not sit down.

"Because yesterday wasn't the first time you came here, was it?"

If it had been able to, my heart would've tumbled to the pit of my stomach. I'd been dreading this moment since that night she'd awoken.

"I was curious about you." I couldn't look her in the eyes.

"You spied on me!"

"I can't read your mind. It drives me mad—you've no idea. I had a theory that maybe I'd be able to hear your thoughts as you slept."

"A theory? And how'd that work out for you?" Bitingly sarcastic now.

"Not very well . . . " I mumbled.

"What was it that you wanted to find out, particularly?"

"I wanted to know how you felt about me."

"You couldn't have just asked?" She rolled her eyes. "Oh, that's right: you were ignoring me for my own good."

I had no response to that.

"How long have you been coming here?"

"Just the past couple of weeks." As if that made me any less culpable.

"I've been dreaming about you since I came to Forks," she accused, then blanched as if she'd just revealed too much. "I thought _I_ was going mad: I smelled your cologne everywhere—all over my room."

I was about to deny that I wore cologne, but an image flashed to mind of her sitting at the computer wrapped in the afghan from the rocking chair. The way she'd burrowed her nose under the lip of the material . . . I'd thought she'd been cold but . . . did my scent attract her, too?

"And the dreams . . . at least, that's what I thought they were. When I woke up the other night, you were sitting in my Gran's rocking chair. I _spoke_ to you."

There was no point denying that. "I can't explain your dreams," I said. "But, you're interesting when you sleep."

"No!" She gasped. "What did you hear?" Evidently, she was aware of her nighttime quirk.

I rose and took her hands in mine, relieved that she didn't pull away, or try to slap me. Maybe she understood that I was repentant.

"You miss your mother. You worry about her. And when it rains, the sound makes you restless. You used to talk about home a lot, but it's less now. Once you said, "It's too green." I chuckled at the memory, hoping to alleviate her embarrassment a little.

"Anything else?" she demanded, and I had a good idea of what she was getting at.

"Well . . . you did say my name."

"A lot?" It was as if she'd expected me to say that.

"How much do you mean by 'a lot', exactly?"

"Oh, God." She hung her head, mortified.

"Don't be self-conscious." If I'd been able to dream, it would have been about her, but that wasn't the point. "It was wrong of me to intrude, and I should never have done so. But I swear to you I meant no harm. . . I was curious, that was all."

"Is that why you kept coming back? Curiosity?" She looked like she wanted to say more, but I couldn't presume to know what she was really thinking.

And she had every right to know why I kept returning, but how could I express that to her? How could I explain the solace I derived from watching her sleep? The peace? I took a deep breath in and sighed it out.

"You were right when you said it causes me pain to be near you . . . But that's _nothing_ compared to the pain I feel when I'm not." I swallowed. "I just don't have the strength to stay away from you anymore."

She gave a sharp intake of breath and bit down on her lower lip. I waited for her to speak. The silence stretched on, the display on the microwave display still flashing End_, End, End._

"If you want to report this to your father, I'll not deny what I've done." I would face whatever charges she'd press. I could hear his cruiser in the distance now, in fact. I braced myself for what she'd say next.

"No," she finally whispered.

"Do you want me to leave?" I deserved to be cast out, never to return.

"No." More forcefully, now—and there were tears in her eyes. "I don't want that either. It-"-she gave a jagged inhale-"it hurts me to be away from you, too."

And she stepped into my embrace, wrapping her arms around my waist. I would have been content to just hold her until her shoulders stopped shaking—for as long as she wanted—but the sound of tires on the driveway and headlights flashing through the living room windows down the hall cut the moment short.

"Should he know I'm here?" I asked.

"Er, I'm not sure . . . "

"Another time, then . . ." I promised, releasing her.

"Edward!" she hissed, but I'd already let myself out the back door.

I thought about going home, but I couldn't make myself leave. On the other hand, I no longer presumed I had the right to enter her room whenever I chose to, not after what had just passed between us. Torn, I climbed into my usual perch, the bough of the old hemlock outside her window, and listened as her father brought his fishing tackle inside and joined her in the kitchen. She pulled another slab of lasagna out of the fridge and cooked it for him.

The small talk they exchanged was typically stilted. Why was it always so awkward for them, I wondered? He loved her more than she knew, but found it impossible to say so. I understood that it was often this way for fathers of teenage daughters.

But he could tell that she was agitated tonight. Parental intuition and years of police training made him alert to signs of evasive behaviour. Through his eyes, I watched her shove the last forkful of food into her mouth, chasing it down with the dregs of her milk.

"No plans tonight?" he asked.

"No, I'm kind of tired." She took her dishes to the sink and scrubbed them vigorously, placing them upside down on a dishtowel to dry.

"It's Saturday," he mused. "You should go out."

"No, Dad, I've got a lot of studying to do. Big test on Monday. Then I just want to get some sleep."

He didn't buy it. He suspected she might try to sneak out later on. There were always house parties held after the school dances—small town kids with nothing better to do. He didn't like the idea of her being at one of those parties if it got out of control. He'd had to shut down more than a few of them in his time.

On the other hand, he didn't like it that she spent so much time alone either, not at her age. Then he thought about himself at seventeen, wryly recognizing that the apple hadn't fallen far in their family tree. There was probably a lot going on in her life that she wasn't telling him.

"None of the boys in town your type, eh?" he probed.

"No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet."

The face of one boy in particular loomed large in his mind. He came from a good, hardworking family. Nice folks, too. "I thought maybe that Mike Newton . . . you said he was friendly."

Oh, he was _friendly_ all right. I felt my teeth grind, and the bough I was hanging onto began to groan under my grip. How I loathed Mike Newton.

"He's _just_ a friend, Dad," she qualified.

"Well, you're too good for the yahoos around here, anyway. Wait till you get to college before you start looking."

"Sounds good to me," she agreed brightly. She was half way down the hall by then.

"'Night honey," he called to her departing back.

"See you in the morning."

"Uh-huh," he muttered under his breath. _See you sneaking out at midnight_, he predicted.

As he scrubbed his own dishes, he decided to order whoever was on duty at the station to swing by the usual party houses and check them out later on. He planned to check on Bella himself before he turned in.

Meanwhile, she was making a show of treading wearily upstairs that wouldn't have fooled even the most trusting parent. In my mind's eye, I saw her father, now seated in front of the television, frown at the ceiling and then cast his gaze out the living room window at her truck.

Should I leave her alone? Knock at the window?_ Let me in. I'm come home . . . _I was the ghost of Wuthering Heights, not sure what to do. She shut her bedroom door loudly then sprinted on tiptoes to open the window sash.

"Edward?" she hissed, gazing straight past me—a beautiful, mischievous imp.

"Yes?" I peeked around the tree trunk.

"Why are you out there?"

"I didn't want to presume . . ."

"Oh, for goodness' sake." She scowled. "I think that's a moot point now, don't you? Come _in!_"

I loved that she knew what the word _moot_ meant. Gleefully, I obeyed, flying past her at lightning speed, landing soundlessly on her bed.

"Oh!" she breathed, clasping her suddenly thundering heart.

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry." I reached to steady her by the shoulders and then sat her down next me.

We gazed at one another in silence, both of us listening to her heartbeat slow. I'd been in her room alone many times, but not like this. It suddenly seemed illicit now. Our secret, not just mine.

"Better?" I asked, taking hold of her hands again.

"Getting there." And we both chuckled.

The darkness couldn't hide the rising heat of her blush. She sat before me, endearingly delicious, and hopelessly tongue-tied. I could have just watched her all night.

"Do you mind if I take a human minute?" She suddenly blurted, effectively breaking the spell she'd casted on me.

I gestured for her to do what she needed to. "Not at all."

"Stay," she commanded, with a stern wag of her finger.

"Yes, ma'am."

And I froze in place, watching her collect her pajamas and bag of toiletries, making an exaggerated fuss of banging the bathroom door open and closed before beginning her ablutions. Downstairs, her father frowned at the television even though the Sonics were up by nine points.

I waited, my body still as a statue at the end of her bed, despite the fact that my thoughts had well and truly left the room to run amok. She finished brushing her teeth and I heard the soft thump of the bathmat hitting the tiles. The plumbing shuddered to life as water began raining relentlessly against porcelain.

Above the patter, I heard the sharp sound of a zipper opening, followed by the crumpling sound of denim hitting the floor. My lecherous imagination supplied rich detail to what I could not see, lighting a fire in my groin.

Her underpants followed her jeans to the floor, and I knew that her thighs were slender and lean. She dispensed of her blouse. Then there was the snap of her bra unclasping. I remembered the way her breasts had felt, pressing up against me when we'd kissed . . . God, help me . . .

I heard the shower curtain move aside, then back into place; the downward trajectory of the spray displaced as she moved into its path. I could picture the blissful expression on her face as the hot water coursed over her head and through her hair, darkening it, plastering the thick waves to the skin of her neck before running down the slope of her back, dripping over the swales of her hips . . .

And to my horror, I was a statue no more. For _it_ had risen to attention, throbbing uncomfortably, chafing against the cotton boxers and jeans keeping prisoner. I crossed one leg over the other. That hurt.

The pattern of the spray dispersed as she moved around the shower stall. She'd turned her back to it now, reaching for the soap. I nearly came undone when I heard the sloughing of the bath puff.

What to do? How could I be around her like this? I got up and paced the room a couple of times, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboard. Oh, God, she was lathering her hair now; the artificial smell of strawberries travelled under the bathroom door and across the hall buoyed by the hot steam.

As I paced, my foot nudged against a book that was partially shoved under the bed. Desperate for any distraction, I pulled it out. It was a sketchbook. Flipping through it, I saw desert landscapes; wildflowers in a vase; and a pair of hands wrapped around a coffee cup—her mother's? After a few more pages it was obvious she'd come to Forks. Here was a little caricature of her father asleep on the couch; there, a dream-catcher. A deer in a forest clearing.

I'd seen her doodling in the margins of her notebooks of course, but I hadn't thought much about it. The sketches here were amateurish, but they showed definite talent. Still flipping, I kept an ear on the force of the shower.

The tidal pools on the beach. Her truck. Six pairs of almond-shaped eyes on one page, just eyes. On the next, vague, willowy silhouettes. Then the drawings changed again. A clenched fist. I flipped the page, and the next was unmistakably me, in profile. I looked like I was in pain. There I was again, leaning against something—my car?—staring straight out of the page, curious, frustrated. Oh yes, she saw everything.

The shower shut off and the curtain shrieked against the rail, protesting as it was pushed back. She began to rub herself dry and I shoved the book back in place under the bed, resuming my former position, the picture of ease.

And there she was, standing before me in a pool of moonlight. I took in her damp hair and flushed face, her entirely inappropriate night attire. She looked utterly indecent. The tattered sweats and too small t-shirt revealed far too much, and yet not enough of her creamy skin.

"Nice," I approved, raising an eyebrow. The compliment was sincere, but she just made a face at me.

"No, it looks good on you."

"Thanks," she whispered, crossing the room to sit, lotus-style, beside me.

"My dad thinks I'm sneaking out," she announced.

"Does he? Why's that?"

"Apparently, I looked a little overexcited."

I took her chin between two fingers and lifted it, examining her face. Her cheekbones, and even the tips of her nose and earlobes were pink. The mingled perfumes of her overheated skin and damp hair nearly drove me insane.

"You do look very warm, actually." I wanted to feel that warmth, her skin against mine. Was it safe? I wanted to try: I bent my face to hers and for a few blissful moments, we were cheek to cheek, perfectly still, until she squirmed.

"Um, it seems to be . . . much easier for you, now, to be close to me," she observed in a strained voice.

"Does it seem that way to you?" I murmured, my nose gliding from her cheek to the corner of her jaw, my hand brushing away her damp hair back so my lips could touch the hollow beneath her ear. Tasting her without biting.

"Much, much easier," she emphasized, breathily.

"Hmm."

"So I was wondering . . . "

"Yes?" I tried to pay attention, but my fingers were tracing he length of her collarbone now, intent on claiming _that_ place—the place between the bones where the scent pooled strongest.

"Why is that"-I felt gooseflesh rise on her skin-"do you think?"

"Mind over matter," I chuckled, enjoying her reaction, but then she pulled back, eying me cautiously. Had I done something wrong?

"No," she denied. You're driving me crazy . . . I'm just worried about pushing you too far."

I smirked. "That's tolerable at the moment."

She chuckled and ducked her head away, inadvertently exposing her neck to me. I wanted to show her that it was all right. I leaned in, brushing my lips against her skin, intending to just stay there and breathe, but her chuckling turned a fully-fledged giggle. She ineffectually tried to push me away.

"Are you ticklish?" I couldn't help provoking her, nuzzling her neck. Her laughter grew throatier.

"Yes . . . _no!_" she gasped, sitting upright. Then she folded both her hands in her lap, pulling away with a serious look on her face.

"How can this be so easy for you now?" she pressed. "This afternoon-"

"It's not _easy_," In no way was this easy. I sighed. "This afternoon I was still . . . undecided. I am sorry about that, it was unforgivable for me to behave so."

"Not unforgivable," she disagreed, and I smiled.

"I wasn't sure if I was strong enough . . . " I picked up one of her hands and pressed her palm to my face. But I was strong enough. _I was!_ "And while there was still the possibility that I might be . . . overcome"-the scent at her wrist made it hard to concentrate-"I remained susceptible. Until I made up my mind that I _was_ strong enough, that there was no possibility at all that I would . . . that I ever could . . ." There were no words.

"So there's no possibility now?"

"Mind over matter," I told her. I was smug for a moment, but had no right to be. She deserved to know that this was not without effort. "I'm trying . . . If it gets to be too much, I'm fairly sure I'll be able to leave."

Now she frowned, obviously displeased by the prospect of me leaving.

"It'll be harder tomorrow. I've had the scent of you in my head all day, and I've grown remarkably desensitized. If I'm away from you for any length of time, I'll have to start over again." I stroked the back of her hand. "Not quite from scratch, though, I think."

"Don't go, then," she implored.

"That suits me. Bring on the shackles—I'm your prisoner." But it was my hands that bound themselves around her wrists.

"You seem more optimistic than usual," she noted, pleased. "I haven't seen you like this before."

"Isn't it supposed to be this way? The glory of first love and all that? It's incredible, isn't it, the difference between reading about something, seeing it in the pictures, and experiencing it?"

"Very different," she agreed. "More forceful than I'd imagined."

"For example: the emotion of jealousy. I've read about it a hundred thousand times, seen actors portray it in countless movies and plays. But it shocked me to experience it." I scowled. "Do you remember the day that Mike asked you to the dance?"

She nodded. "It was the day you started talking to me again."

"I was surprised by the flare of resentment, almost fury, that I felt—I didn't recognize what it was at first. It aggravated me even more than usual that I couldn't know what you were thinking, why you refused him. I knew I had no right to care. I _tried_ not to care . . . but it drove me to distraction. I had to find out how you felt about me. If there was just some way to know . . .

"That was the first night I came here. I wrestled all night, watching you sleep, with the chasm between what I knew was _right_, moral, ethical, and what I _wanted_. I knew that if I continued to ignore you as I should, or if I left for a few years, till you were gone, that someday you'd say yes to Mike, or someone like him. It made me angry.

"And then, as you were sleeping, you said my name. At first, I thought you'd woken, but you rolled over restlessly and mumbled my name once more. The feeling that coursed through me then was unnerving, staggering. And I knew I couldn't ignore you any longer.

"But jealousy . . . it's so irrational! Just now, when your father asked you about that vile Mike Newton . . . " I shook my head angrily.

"I should have known you'd be listening to that," she groaned.

"Of course."

"_That_ made you feel jealous, though, really?"

"I'm new at this; you're resurrecting the human in me and everything feels stronger because it's fresh."

She tried to pull back, to look into my face, but her wrists were locked in my unbreakable hold.

"What—" she started to ask, but I was distracted. Chief Swan had turned the television off a few moments ago, and he'd been puttering around the kitchen since. I'd just heard the lamp switch off, and the first of his footsteps on the stairs.

She froze as I released her hand. "Lie down!" I hissed, disappearing into her closet. Not for the first time.

She rolled under her quilt, curling up on her side, the way she usually slept. Sure enough, the door opened a crack and her father peeked in to make sure she was in bed like she was supposed to be. She breathed evenly, heavily, pretending to sleep.

A long moment passed before he finally retreated, closing the door behind him. I let another go by before I slipped my arm underneath the bedclothes and wrapped it around her.

"You are a terrible actress," I teased. "I'd say a career on the stage is out for you."

"Darn it," she muttered, her heart crashing in her chest. She turned over to face me, grinning hugely. I stroked her hair, tucking strands behind her ear again, and she took my other hand and pressed it against her cheek, content. The faint notes of the lullaby I'd composed for her began to play in my mind, as they always did when I thought of her, or when she was near.

"Shall I sing you to sleep?" I asked her.

She just laughed. "As if I could sleep with you here."

"You do it all the time."

"Yes, but I didn't _know_ you were here." And she threw me an icy glare.

"So if you don't want to sleep . . ." I trailed off suggestively, watching her eyes widen.

"Yes?" She sat up.

"What do you want to do?"

Her lithe, delicious neck glowed in the moonlight once more. I sensed that our time tonight was drawing to a close, and I wanted to fill my system with the very essence of her, storing my reserves for the painful hours of separation. She cuddled closer to me, gooseflesh rising again as I slid my nose along her jaw, inhaling.

"I thought you were desensitized," she said.

"Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," I whispered.

"Oh, really?" And she evaded me with a sinuous move and came to face me, grinning, her fists balled on her hips. "Why is it that you're allowed to imbibe and I'm not?"

I opened my arms, signaling that she could do as she wished. In return, she cuddled in close, slowly, cautiously. Her arm slipped around my waist. Her other hand sought mine.

"You smell like cedar." She breathed in, nuzzling my neck. I felt the hairs at the nape stand upright.

"And cinnamon." She exhaled, her nose brushing my collarbone.

"Honey." She loosened one hand from mine so she could trace it, then brushed the side of my face, up and up, until it threaded into one of my unruly cowlicks. I felt her grin again as she tried to brush it down.

"And sunshine."

She tilted her face to me and brushed her lips against mine. I was lost. I've no idea how long we kissed, but the throbbing in her artery eventually became too much. She seemed to sense this on her own, moving away to sit very still.

"I have a question for you," I ventured, curling a lock of her hair between my fingers.

"Don't you ever run out of questions?"

"Why did you really come back to Forks?"

She was instantly wary. "I already told you why."

"You said your mother didn't want you anymore-"

"I said she didn't _need_ me anymore," she interrupted, taking the bait.

I waited patiently as she fidgeted, framing her thoughts.

"I'm a terribly selfish person," she announced unexpectedly. I waited for what she'd say next because I had no idea how to respond.

"I was glad that my mom finally found someone who'd take care of her. Phil's a nice guy. He was good to me, too. But . . ."

"But . . . ?"

"Ugh, I hate saying this out loud. I shouldn't feel this way. " She grimaced. Promise not to tell anyone?" _Who would I tell? _

"You know he's a professional ballplayer, right? He's got a lot of downtime in the off-season. After he moved in, he kind of took over with the household—the cooking and the grocery shopping. He meant well; I know he did. It had just been Mom and me for so long, and he wanted to things easier on us. I thought it was great that he helped out, only . . ."

So that was it. She'd felt her role as caregiver in her upside down little family had been usurped.

"I didn't expect him to be my new dad or anything. He's, like, thirty, but he's just a big kid, really. He's what my mom wants. And I'm okay with that. I _am_ . . ." But she still seemed perplexed.

"Did you want him to be a dad to you?"

"No. I wanted my _own_ dad. And when I got here, I knew I'd made the right decision. He needs me."

I hadn't much evidence of this need she spoke of. He was nothing if not self-reliant. But I did know how guilty he felt for leaving her alone so much.

"Do you two ever actually talk?" I teased.

She smiled. "We don't need to. We can just be. I don't have to take care of him, but I want to."

"Bella, you are the very opposite of selfish," I marveled.

"I'm seem to be the very opposite of everything, in case you haven't noticed." She rolled her eyes. "I don't fit in anywhere."

"Does it bother you?"

"No. It's just how my life is."

Then she sat up against the pillows, raising her index finger in the air to emphasize her next point.

"But, I _am_ selfish," she insisted. "And jealous. When I hear that you've been jealous of Mike Newton, even though Rosalie—Rosalie, the incarnation of pure beauty—was meant for you . . . Emmett or no Emmett, how can I compete with that?"

"There's no competition." I drew her trapped hands around me, holding her close. She leaned in closely, her breath a gentle caress. Had it been capable, my own flesh would have risen in goose bumps.

"I know there's no competition," she mumbled. "That's the problem."

She really didn't see herself clearly at all. Hers was a loveliness that shone from within, making her all the more beautiful to me. Rosalie's superficial good looks could never compete with that. Ever.

"Of course, Rosalie's beautiful in her own way, but even if she wasn't like a sister to me, even if Emmett didn't belong with her, she could never have one tenth, no, one hundredth of the attraction that you hold for me."

She smirked skeptically. If she ever got to know my sister, then perhaps she'd understand. I didn't foresee that eventuality though; Rosalie was a tough nut to crack. I might have been able to hear her thoughts, but the only one who truly knew her was Emmett.

Bella yawned hugely then, and I realized that the hour was getting very late for her. I knew I should leave.

"Are you ready to sleep now?" I asked. "Or do you have any more unexpected revelations for me tonight?"

"Mmm . . . maybe one or two."

"We have tomorrow, and the next day, and the next . . . " What a prospect that was! I was unused to feeling such anticipation—such hope.

"Are you sure you won't vanish in the morning?" Her voice remained light, but her deadly serious expression betrayed her. "You are mythical, after all.

"I won't leave you," I vowed.

"No more revelations," she said, "but I have do have another question . . . " and I was surprised by the sudden warmth of blood rushing to her skin. I found myself swallowing an unexpected gush of venom.

"What is it?"

"No, forget it," she hedged. "I've changed my mind."

"Bella, you can ask me anything." But she just shook her head stubbornly.

"Ugh, I keep thinking it will get less frustrating, not hearing your thoughts, but it just gets worse and worse."

She scowled. "I'm glad you can't hear my thoughts. It's bad enough that you eavesdrop on my sleep-talking."

"Please?" I begged. I seemed to spend a great deal of time begging from her, and I didn't like it one bit.

"If you don't tell me, I'll assume it's something far worse than it is." I placed two fingers under her chin and lifted it towards me. "Please?"

"Well," she began, then faltered, biting her lip.

"Yes?"

"You told me earlier that Rosalie and Emmett sometimes live apart from your family as a married couple, and that they'll probably get married again soon . . . Is that . . . marriage . . . the same as it is for humans?"

I laughed, understanding now. "Is that what you're getting at?"

She nodded, fidgeting. I wasn't embarrassed; I was fully cognizant that my married siblings had sex with one another.

"Yes, I suppose it is much the same. I told you, we retain most of our human desires; they're just hidden behind more powerful ones."

"Oh." She nodded, pondering . . . what did that mean?

"Was there a purpose behind your curiosity?"

"Well, I did wonder . . . about you and me . . . someday . . . "

I swallowed audibly, ineffectually stifling a gasp of both fear and desire. _Out of the question! _my logical brain screamed_. _On the other hand, it was reassuring to know I wasn't the only one who'd been thinking about it. Maybe I wasn't an irredeemable letch after all.

I knew that it wasn't impossible, but if I were to lose control and hurt her, I'd never forgive myself. And if there was blood! God help me, I didn't want to think about that.

"I'm not sure if that . . . would be possible for us." I didn't want to give her false hope. Not until I was certain . . .

"Because it would be too hard for you, if I were that . . . close?"

"Partly, but that's not what I was thinking of. It's just that you're so soft, so fragile. I have to mind my actions every moment that we're together so that I don't hurt you. I could kill you quite easily, Bella, simply by accident. You don't realize how breakable you are."

I cradled her face between my hands again. "I can never, _ever_ afford to lose any kind of control when I'm with you."

"I'm curious now, though. Have you ever . . . ?" I'd eavesdropped on her conversation with her friends as they drove to Port Angeles, but I wanted to hear the answer from her now.

"Of course not." She flushed. "I told you, I've never felt like this about anyone before, not even close."

"That's nice. We have that one thing in common, at least."

"Your human instincts . . . , "she began. "Well, do you find me attractive in _that_ way, at all?"

I'd just kissed this girl in her bed and she had to ask that? How could she have any doubt?

"I may not be human, but I am a man," I assured her. She grinned, yawning again.

"I've answered your questions, now you really should sleep."

"I'm not sure if I can," she protested.

"Shall I leave, then?"

"No!" she blurted, making me laugh, but Chief Swan stirred and I was alert once more. There was no cause for alarm however; he just turned over, thinking she was talking in her sleep again. Within moments, he'd drifted off himself.

Bella lay down too, nestling against my cold, hard chest. I brought the comforter around her shoulders, marveling at the way her body warmed mine, how the cadence of her breath and her pulse soothed me. The rhythm was slow, like that of her lullaby. I began to hum it aloud again.

More tired than she realized, exhausted from the long day of stress and exertion, it wasn't long before she fell asleep in my cold arms. How I wished I could curl up and join her there, in that state of blissful oblivion. The joy in my heart that night felt boundless. Surely no one in the history of this entire planet had ever felt the way I did now.

I did not deserve such happiness.

_I dreamed of you at nighttime, and I watched you in your sleep.  
I met you in high places; I touched your head and touched your feet.  
So, if you disappear out of view, you know I will never say goodbye.  
And though I try to forget it, you will make me call your name  
And I'll shout it to the blue summer sky. ~ Hunters & Collectors_

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**Thanks to AllTheOtherNamesAreUsed and Malianani for taking the time to pre-read. Their advice helped me decide what to do with this monster of a chapter.**

**I'd also like to thank Sherryola for recently recc'ing this story to her readers. Like me, she's writing a version of _Midnight Sun_, but _Seeing Bella_ is a very different take on canon.  
The heroine is totally blind. Check it out:**

fanfiction s / 6579398 / 1 / Seeing _ Bella


	22. Homecoming 2: Coda

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight _is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration. **

**Thank you to my beta and very good friend, Lezlee. Thanks also to Miaokuancha for the pre-read.**

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**Playlist Picks:**

Waltz in A Flat Major – Johannes Brahms  
Reign of Love – Coldplay

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**CODA**

_**Coda:**_ _a tail, i.e. a closing section appended to a musical movement._

The woods were full of voices that night. Wolves? Coyotes? I don't know why I paid any attention to their song as I ran through the forest. I wasn't thirsty, and we didn't hunt canines as a rule. The taste of their blood didn't appeal to us in the least.

Not wolves. _Canis lupis_ had been eradicated from this peninsula nearly eighty years ago. As for the men who walked as wolves, they'd disappeared at about the same time. Coyotes, then-I heard the typical _yip, yip, yip,_ between the howls, though the pitch and timbre sounded off. Too low, somehow.

The pack was on the move, calling to one another as they followed their prey. One long loud howl came from much further west than all the others. Separated from the pack—following a new scent, maybe—it must have crossed on to the reservation.

I was on my way home, my feet burning a path of exhilaration even as my heart remained at Bella's bedside. It hated leaving her, but it was necessary. My family needed to find out what had happened today.

I should have called home hours ago. They'd be worried. Guilt compelled me to slow enough so I could check my phone for messages, only so I could find that the inbox was empty. I'd expected as much; Alice knew that every decision today had been mine and Bella's to make. She would have been watching but there was no way she could interfere.

A shudder of trepidation passed through me, and I hoped that she hadn't seen _everything _that had happened—or if she had, that she'd chosen to keep the explicit details to herself. The thought of their expectant faces at the front door made me suddenly anxious.

My run brought me closer to the house, and animal instincts came and went, flitting through the ether as feelings mostly, never coalescing, until I suddenly heard Emmett's thoughts broadcast loud and clear:

_This is so humiliating . . ._

He was scowling at my diminutive sister, handing her something just out of my line of sight. She took whatever it was, and then turned to speak to someone else, her hand held out. She was gloating.

"All right, pay up. He's going to be home any minute." Her voice rang as clearly in Emmett's mind as if she was standing right beside me.

Jasper sighed, and through Alice's eyes he looked just about as sour as Emmett felt. I saw him hand her a wad of cash, which she counted and folded inside the pocket of her jeans.

"She'll be insufferable now—you realize that, don't you?" he told Emmett, who crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes to the heavens.

_What was that all about? _

Moments later, I hurdled the river, landing on the mossy bank within sight of the house. Alice and my brothers were together in an upstairs study but Carlisle and Esme waited in the great room. I could feel how anxious they were. The late hour and my continued absence had them fearing the worst, despite Alice's assurances that everything would be all right. Carlisle was wondering at what time he should start searching for me.

The worst was forefront in Rosalie's mind too, but I was shocked to feel her relief—pleasure almost—at the prospect that Bella might die. There was some empathy in her heart for what that would do to me, but what she really wanted was to be rid of the threat to our secret life. I felt a surge of anger and disappointment against my sister.

There was never any point trying to enter our home surreptitiously, so I mounted the porch, noisily banging my boots against the top step to dislodge some of the mud. I stepped through the sliding glass door, embraced by a collective sigh of relief, as I tried but no doubt failed to look casual. I braced myself for what was to come.

"Did she taste good, Edward?" Smirking, superior Rosalie was first to speak, eager to sharpen her talons.

But I wasn't about to let her one-up me. Not tonight. I turned to face her slowly, deliberately, the smile that had been on my face all night growing into a grin as I fixed her with a clear, golden gaze. All the better to see her knocked down a peg or two.

"Better than I ever imagined."

I just stood there, my hands shoved in my pockets, bouncing gently on my heels as she visibly deflated, realizing the truth of my words. Her worst-case scenario.

"Oh, my!" Esme's hand flew to her mouth. _Just look at him! _

She nudged Carlisle, and he and the rest of the family surged forward as Rosalie backed off, their expressions betraying varying degrees of shock, amazement, and . . . was that _respect _I felt from my brothers?

"Did you-?" Alice gasped, then let out a shout of laughter, putting two and two together. "Omig-you _kissed_ her!" _Why didn't I see _that_ coming?_

She chuckled, leaning into Jasper's shoulder as he pulled her close and squeezed her shoulder. His teeth flashed in a quick grin. Yes, that was definitely respect I felt coming from him.

"Please tell me she still has a tongue." Emmett made no attempt to hold his own, receiving a withering glare from Rosalie in response. "What?" He frowned.

She growled, the scowl etching deeper into her face.

I laughed out loud at the two of them as Esme took my arm and lead me to a nearby couch. They all gathered to sit closely around, except for Rosalie, who remained standing, her arms folded defiantly in front of her.

"What happened today, Edward?" Carlisle generally spoke aloud in my presence only for the benefit of the others, but he couldn't restrain his curiousity now. "You seem so very . . . different."

It was true. I _felt_ different. What happened in the meadow today had lifted a great burden from my soul. For the first time in many years, I felt light. Hopeful. No wonder my appearance seemed changed.

"Nothing." I barked a laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. "Everything . . . " I knew I'd been irrevocably altered. Only love could have done that. I was lost in thought for a moment or two, and when I returned I could see their faces were rapt, expectant; even Rosalie was attentive.

"We went hiking in the mountains, like I said we would. She's not afraid to be alone with me. She trusts me—can you believe that? She even made sure that no one knew we'd gone up there together in case, in case . . ." I still couldn't fathom her desire to protect me, nor could I understand her complete lack of self-preservation. It was baldly reckless in light of what could have happened—what nearly _did_ happen. Esme squeezed my arm comfortingly.

"I'm supposed to thank you, by the way," I told her, as an aside. "For the snacks. The chocolate, especially."

"You were supposed to take the credit for that." She smiled. "But, you're welcome."

"And how did she react when she saw you in sunlight?" Carlisle urged, leaning forward eagerly, elbows on knees, face pressed against his steepled hands.

"She was amazed. Not frightened at all."

It was hard to find the right words to describe what happened as I stepped into the light before her. And as I visualized the look of absolute wonder on her face, I realized that I did not want to—that it was a moment I wanted to keep to myself.

"_She's_ amazing," I affirmed. "She's like no human you've ever met."

"And is that when you kissed her?" Alice blurted.

Esme shot her a stern look, but I just smiled. "No. That was later."

"But her blood . . . did nothing happen?" Esme asked.

"There was a moment when she came very close . . . " My eyes flickered to Alice. Her face was pensive; she'd expected to hear this. We'd all feared it, of course. I had to take a deep breath and swallow the surge of shame that accompanied the memory of what very nearly happened.

"But what happened next was pure instinct." I could only shake my head in wonder, and I'm sure my voice shook a little. This feeling of self-confidence was still so new to me. "A better instinct than I ever knew was in me."

Awed, Carlisle laid a hand on my shoulder. "Never doubt your instincts, son," he said gently. "They serve you well."

"I don't. Not anymore. "

"Nor do I," Alice and Esme spoke in unison, but a sudden shift in the demeanor of the others caught my attention and I spun around to face them. I was suddenly very cognizant of what their wager had been about.

"You didn't think I'd bring her back!"

For the first time ever, my bigger brothers were cowering from me.

"Er, not exactly . . ." Emmett couldn't meet my eyes.

Jasper shuffled his feet. "We knew you'd bring her back," he demurred. "We just . . . _disagreed_ about the state she'd be in."

In his mind, I caught an image of me, distraught, stumbling through the forest, my shirtfront covered in blood. Bella, white and lifeless in my arms. How could they even think that? I felt my temper rise—I truly felt I might attack them—when I realized how I'd appeared to them after that first Biology class. Feral. Desperate. Monstrous . . .

_How could they not? _

But, Alice! I rounded on her accusingly, but she just shrugged.

"I told you I don't place my bets lightly."

I thought she'd been speaking metaphorically at the time. Since when had she become so adept at hiding her thoughts? How distracted I must have been last night.

"Well, I'm appalled," Esme scolded. "I had no idea about any of this."

Alice was nonplussed. "I knew he wouldn't hurt her. He just had to believe it, himself."

I looked up again with new conviction in my heart. "No. I couldn't hurt her. I can't ever hurt her, now."

"Because you love her." My father's heart warmed, confirming what he'd felt from me for many weeks. He'd suspected this from the beginning.

"I do." It no longer felt shameful to say the words aloud. I would have gladly shouted them now.

Rosalie hissed, whirling on Carlisle. "You're not actually condoning this?"

She knew very well that her protestations were pointless. He wouldn't intervene when it came to matters of the heart, not unless directly asked to. He turned to her now, emanating disappointment.

"I should think that you, more than anyone, would appreciate what your brother has gone through—what it has cost him to get to this point."

She drew herself up to her full height. Her chin jutted haughtily as she stood her ground; nevertheless I could see that his words had hurt her. "

I do appreciate it." She practically spat the words at him, turning abruptly away to face me once more. "And I'm very happy you didn't have your girlfriend for lunch, Edward"—My God, she meant that, sincerely—"But the entire family will be implicated when your little romance ends badly. And it will, mark my words."

Carlisle rose, his arms folded over his chest. "Edward has made his decision. Bella is with him now, and it's not up to us to question that."

"Well, don't expect me to roll out the welcome mat," she snarled, whirling on her heel and marching out the door. She completely ignored Emmett as he reached towards her, placating once more.

_Sorry . . _. _Again . . _I heard his internal sigh as he went after her.

Esme rubbed my shoulder, pulling me closer in a half-embrace. "Don't mind her; you know what she's like." She smiled, encouragingly. "She was worried about you today; we all were." Rosalie's pinched, worried face appeared in her memory, staring abstractedly out towards the river. She chewed the cuticle of an index finger.

I wasn't so certain she'd get over her pique that easily, however. And I didn't want to waste energy wondering how to make her accept Bella into the fold. There was no way to make Rosalie do anything she didn't want to.

Bella. My thoughts could never leave her for long. I ached to return to her side. It was a physical need as much as any for me now. She was the sustenance of my soul. I'd broken my promise that I wouldn't leave her . . .

I realized my family was watching, patiently waiting for me to say something.

"I'd like to bring Bella here tomorrow, if that's all right," I announced. "I want her to meet Esme—to meet all of you, properly—and show her the house."

"Of course," Carlisle replied, somewhat taken aback. "You didn't need to ask permission for that, Edward. This is your home, too."

"What time should we expect her?" Esme's good manners did not hide her enthusiasm. A joyful look passed between her and Alice as my sister announced,

"A little after nine, I think."

Jasper had been quiet for a while. Though he was pleased at the turn of events today, there was still doubt in his mind. Conflict. Had he not truly accepted my decision?

Perhaps the doubt was in my own mind, because it was obvious that he felt some emotion coming from me. He raised his head. "Do you really think so little of me?" Yes, he read me well; I became ashamed once more.

"I know what's at stake here. But I know what Bella means to you—to Alice. I would never jeopardize that." _Not like some_. He threw a disparaging look in the direction Rosalie had gone, then cleared his throat.

"My control is improving, but it's not perfect. Not by any means. Her scent's powerful-" He stopped himself from uttering the adjective he had in mind, but he knew I heard it, and his eyes flickered guiltily. "I can keep myself in check in a large crowd at the school . . . But it may be wise for me to keep my distance while she's here."

I could only thank him for his honesty. I rose to meet him, embracing him in a one-armed hug. Brothers.

And with that, the impromptu gathering found its natural end. My sister and my mother took their leave of me, their overt displays of affection not embarrassing me for once.

There were a few things I still needed to take care of before Bella's visit. At the very least, I needed to make myself presentable for the morning. I turned to go upstairs, only to hear Carlisle silently call my name.

_I owe you an apology. _He didn't want the others to hear this.

I had no idea what he was apologizing for; I was completely nonplussed.

_I should never have questioned what you were doing today. You're not an impulsive person, and you'd never experiment frivolously._

He had nothing to apologize for. He'd been right to voice his concern. I placated him with a minute shake of the head, indicating I knew he'd spoken up with my best interests at heart.

He'd caught up to me by then, giving me an affectionate clap on the shoulder before I flew up the stairs. As I did, I heard the four of them begin discussing the changes they'd seen in me this night. I barely noticed; I just wanted to get back to Bella as soon as I could.

The shower was necessary—the warm water, a balm to the familiar ache I felt at being separated from her. I turned the tap until the water was exactly the temperature of her skin and just stood there, letting it wash over me.

Afterwards, the shirt I changed in to didn't seem to fit right. I couldn't understand why at first; it was one of my favourites. It was only when I put the one I'd worn today into the laundry hamper that I realized what was wrong. The new shirt lacked any hint of Bella's scent. Even I had to roll my eyes at that. Clearly, I was obsessed.

And then I did what I could to tidy my cluttered room. The instruments took up quite a bit of space but there wasn't much that could be done about that, not until I turned that empty shed into a music room, anyway. I shelved the scattered books and CDs, and filed pages of sheet music onto the music stand. I thought about shoving my teetering piles of journals under the couch, but decided to just leave them where they were.

I looked around me at all of these things—these fragments of my solitary life. I'd thought that surrounding myself with great art and literature was all I needed to complete me. I'd been satisfied with my esthetic life. No longer.

I picked up a photograph of me and my parents—my human parents—and brushed dust from the frame.

_You would have loved her_, I told them silently.

They gazed serenely at me from the past, my mother wearing that ever-present hint of a mischievous smile, my father imposing, but not unkind. Yes, they would have loved her too. Would she have loved them in return? Would she love my Immortal family, as Alice had predicted?

And what would she think when she came here tomorrow, I wondered? What would she think of our home? How we lived? I glanced at the couch by the window: she didn't know yet that I never slept. Any normal person would find that hard to believe. Would she? And what about all the other strange truths of my existence? I'd told her so very little, really. Would it all be too much? Would the whole truth scare her away from me?

I supposed that would be for the best. I mean I _knew_ that it would be. Better for _her_, but not for _me. _My ever-present argument with myself resumed its painful circle in my mind. I knew I'd never silence it.

But it didn't matter. She'd made her decision; now I'd made mine. All that mattered now were her safety, her happiness. They twined with the roots of my own wellbeing; everything else was irrelevant.

I replaced my parents' picture on the shelf, and opened the glass door that was my forest escape. I know I imagined it, but I could almost catch her scent on the wind, beckoning me. Calling me to her as strongly as the music echoing in my heart.

And then I was flying through the woods once more. In the darkness before dawn they were silent, devoid of animal song.

I returned to Bella's side to watch over her, creeping through the window as was my custom, but settling into the rocking chair this time without any trepidation or guilt. It felt like my appointed place. I drew the afghan around me, burrowing my nose into the material, only feeling whole now as I drew her scent into my lungs.

Near dawn, she began to speak again, reliving our day together by the sounds of it. Most of her mumblings were nonsensical but once she uttered "Slow down!" quite loudly. I had to laugh.

The only other words I heard clearly were a chosen few that brought my dead heart bursting to life. She spoke my name, once, and again, and then told me that she loved me.

"As I love you," I whispered, wrapping the afghan tighter around me, rocking in time to the cadence of her phrase. "As I love you."

* * *

**A/N:** **To learn more about what has happened to the ecosystem of the Olympic Peninsula since wolves were eradicated there, and also about the campaign to reintroduce them, see:**

www . guardian . co . uk / environment / 2009 / jan / 29 / endangered - habitats - washington - state

**The scientific study upon which this article is based is sobering, and you can find it here:**

www . cof . orst . edu / leopold / papers / 2008 % 20 Beschta % 20 & % 20 Ripple , % 20 Olympic % 20 trophic % 20 cascades . pdf

**It's a good thing the Cullens are around to keep the ungulate population in check! **

* * *

I would like to acknowledge the a new friend that I've made in the fandom: **ZoyaZalan** helped me find just the right piece of classical music to complement the mood of this chapter. A talented musician in her own right, she's also a wonderful writer. I can only describe her taste as sublime.

In return for her assistance, I am recommending her imaginative story, _For All Eternity_. Or, you can find her FFNet profile, and read them all: **fanfiction u / 2397671 / Zoya_Zalan**


	23. Kith & Kin

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from **_**Twilight**_** is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Thanks to Lezlee, who betad this with her usual speed and precision, and to Zoya Zalan for her inspired musical suggestions.**

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

I Burn for You – Sting/The Police  
Nocturne No. 1 in B flat Minor – Chopin

* * *

**KITH & KIN**

"A stern society, dead to the world and scorning earth-born joys . . . " 1

I placed the volume of poetry on my lap, glancing up hopefully at Bella's sigh. Perhaps she'd finally turn over and open her eyes this time—and grace me with a sweet smile of welcome.

No. She just mumbled incoherently and slept on.

Surely she'd have to wake soon? It had been almost eight hours. Why would she need more sleep than that, unless the stress of yesterday had utterly exhausted her? I hoped not; I didn't want to be responsible for her falling ill. How was it that humans could fritter away a third of their lives unconscious, anyway? How had _I _ever been able to do that?

I scrubbed my face in my hands, trying vainly to distract myself with the verse. I'd spent many peaceful nights here, relishing respite from the intrusive thoughts of others, but peace eluded me tonight. She slumbered less than five feet away, her thoughts were secreted some place I could not go. Dead to the world she was—dead to _me—_for all intents and purposes.

This night, this day rather, the cultivated patience of the immortal had given way to the seventeen-year-old within. I just wanted her to wake up. I wanted to bring her home to meet my family. I knew they'd love her as much as I did.

Her body responded to the muted light of dawn. As it increased, she became restless, turning and moaning, and finally rolling onto her back with one arm across her eyes. Her chest rose and fell—deeper breaths—maybe now . . . ?

Eyes still shut, she stretched and rolled over to face me—an exquisite slumbering angel. But a rumpled one. Her shoulders rose and fell in time with her quiet breaths and I would have been content just to watch her until her eyes opened, but she suddenly gasped, sitting up so quickly her head must have spun. Those unruly curls stuck out every which way at once, falling willfully over her brow.

"Your hair looks like a haystack"—the backhanded compliment left my lips before I could stop it—"but I like it."

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and blinked owlishly in the direction of my voice. She didn't seem to see me. Then without warning, she launched herself across the room with a loud squeal, landing in my lap with a little _oof_.

"Edward! You stayed!"

"Of course," I replied. Her exuberance surprised both of us, but it made me happy. I draped the afghan around her shoulders, massaging them so she wouldn't catch chill. She was still swathed with the heat of sleep.

Nestling against my shoulder, her breath a feather-light caress, she murmured, "I was sure it was a dream."

"A good one, I hope?" I remembered the last time I'd asked her that question.

"What do you think?" she chuckled then suddenly she leaped to her feet again, startling me.

"My dad!" She ran to the window to pull back the curtain. The cruiser was nowhere in sight.

"Oh, he left some time ago—after reattaching your battery cables, I might add."

He'd had to stop by the station on the way out of town. I hadn't really been paying attention when his pager had gone off at four a.m. Something about a homicide in a neighbouring county. He'd thrown his fishing gear into the backseat of the cruiser before he left.

Bella let go of the curtain, turning to face me with a questioning look.

"Is that really all it would take to stop you, if you were determined to go?"

She didn't answer—just stood there, glancing indecisively between the window and me. What was the matter?

"You're not usually this confused in the morning," I noted.

"You're not usually in my room first thing in the morning," she retorted then, blushing, elaborated. "I need another human moment."

I listened to water splashing in the sink, the thump of the medicine cabinet opening and closing, and wondered if I should have really should have stayed. But she'd said she wanted me to . . .

I needn't have worried. When she emerged, she climbed straight back onto my lap and into my arms. She'd brushed her hair; her skin smelled of lavender soap, her breath, so strongly of peppermint that my eyes would have watered if they could have. Toothpaste might have eliminated her halitosis but it also masked the lovely essence of _her_ that emanated from her very core. What did yogis call it? _Prana_? It would be some time before she smelled like herself again.

We rocked back and forth in silence—to the rhythm of her heartbeat. She rested her head against my shoulder, and I could never remember feeling so content. Not in this lifetime.

Until she stirred. My temporarily tamed cowlicks, and fresh shirt had caught her attention.

"You left?" I'd broken my promise to her and she knew it.

"I couldn't be seen leaving in the same clothes I came in. What would the neighbours think?"

Humour would not sway her, but honesty would. "You were very deeply asleep. I didn't miss anything . . . The talking came later." And my dead heart sang as I remembered her words.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "What did you hear this time?"

I took her hand and pressed my lips against the backs of her fingers. "You said you loved me."

I felt the rising heat of her blush as she ducked her head. "You knew that already."

"It was nice to hear, just the same."

She hid her face against my shoulder, threading her fingers through mine. "I do love you," she whispered.

There were no words to describe my feelings for her now. My precious angel; she was my life. She had saved me. I held on to that truth, rocking us back and forth in silence. It was sublime; I could have stayed there for hours but for the faint grumbling of her empty stomach.

"Breakfast time?" I suggested, wanting to show her I remembered all her human needs.

And she leaped to her feet, her hands flying to her throat. Gaping at me with wide, horrified eyes, she asked piteously, "Are you going to kill me?"

_Have you come to kill me . . . ?_

It took me a second to realize she was playacting. She couldn't have known her words echoed those I'd heard before, uttered by a psychopath in Boston all those years ago. One whose blood called to me nearly as strongly as hers . . . But how could she just make a joke out of my feeding habits? She knew what it cost me, just to be with her. I may have put mind over matter, but I'd only subdued my nature, not conquered it.

"_Kidding_. Geez!" Her hands fell dramatically to her sides but she examined my face anxiously—afraid she'd crossed a line.

I glared at her. "Not funny, Bella."

"Not even a little bit?" she probed. "It was _so_ funny. Ha! And you said I couldn't act."

"For good reason!" I sighed. But she could tell she was forgiven. She was learning to read me, too.

I stood up too, and at this proximity I couldn't help but notice how petite she was. The top of her head barely met my breastbone. I wanted to cradle her to me once more—to protect her from . . . everything.

"Shall I rephrase, then?" I smirked. "Breakfast time for the _human_."

And I scooped her over my shoulder, flying downstairs, completely ignoring her feeble fists and shrieks of protest. I could playact too. Caveman. I'd never imagined being so carefree with anyone, human or otherwise.

My glee was short-lived however, when I deposited her at the kitchen table and realized I had absolutely no idea what to feed her.

"That's all right." She hopped up from her chair with a grin. "I'm used to fending for myself. Watch _me_ hunt."

She pulled a box of cereal out of a cupboard, pouring the contents—which looked and smelled to me like shredded cardboard—into a bowl and drowning them in milk. She spooned some of the mush towards her mouth, pausing as she did—eyes trained on me.

"Can I get you anything?" Her polite smile turned impish. "There might be a hunk of venison in the freezer I can thaw out . . ."

I rolled my eyes. "Just eat, Bella."

I wished she'd stop poking fun at my diet. It occurred to me that perhaps her cavalier attitude was really her way of letting me know she accepted me for what I was. I hoped so; there'd be a lot of things I'd ask her to accept about me today.

She cleared her throat nervously, making me realize I'd been staring at her.

"So, what's on our agenda for today?"

I liked her assumption that we'd be spending the day together. If I had my way, I'd be with her today, tomorrow, and all her tomorrows after that. For as long as she'd have me. I gathered the courage to make my proposition—to let her make her choice.

"Well . . . how do you feel about meeting my family?"

"Scared." I could see the fear in her eyes before she even admitted it. Was it schadenfreude that made me glad to finally wrench a normal human reaction from her?

"I'm not afraid of _them_," she qualified, and I realized I'd underestimated her as usual. "I'm afraid they won't . . . like me. Aren't they going to be surprised that you'd bring someone like _me_ home to meet them? Do they know I know about them?" She was adorably naive.

"Oh, they know everything. They'd taken bets yesterday, you know"—It still made me angry to think about that—"on whether I'd bring you back, though why anyone would bet against Alice, I can't imagine. At any rate, we don't have secrets in the family. It's not really feasible."

"Right. With your mind reading and Alice seeing the future, and all that."

"Exactly." I didn't want to dwell on the topic of Alice and her predictions. Luckily, there were more pertinent matters of protocol that required attention. I flashed her a quick smile.

"And you should introduce me to our father too, I think."

"He already knows you." But she knew exactly what I was getting at.

"As your boyfriend, I mean."

"That doesn't begin to describe what you are to me," she confessed.

This time I was the one who looked away. I would have blushed if I'd been able to. Nevertheless, I recovered quickly enough to reach across the table and lift her chin until our eyes met once more.

"Well, I don't know if we need give him all the gory details, but he will need some explanation for why I'm around here so much. I don't want Chief Swan putting a restraining order on me."

She snorted. "He wouldn't dare." But she was suddenly anxious. "Will you _really_ be here, though? Always?"

"As long as you want me."

"Forever?" she challenged.

That word meant something very different to her than it did to me. She used it with such determination, but how could she know her fickle human heart? It was young and malleable. It wasn't like mine; I was the one forever changed. I'd always want _her_, even after she was dead.

My thoughts returned to Alice's vision of Bella, immortal. Beautiful. Terrible. It was a fate I'd never wish on anyone, yet if I were to be honest, it was also my deepest desire. A mate, an equal, in every sense of the word . . . Mine forever, but at what cost?

"Always."

I stroked her fiery cheek. Flesh and blood; I could never give this up either. No matter what I wanted, I was taking from her the life she was meant to live. I was damnably selfish.

"Does that make you sad?" she wondered. She had no idea how very much loved her . . . How much I hated myself. I could not tell her of my awful conflict.

"Are you finished?" I finally asked, indicating her empty bowl.

"Of course." She jumped up and hurriedly took her dishes to the sink.

"Get dressed, then. I'll wait for you."

She grinned and ran upstairs without another word. I wandered into the tiny living room to wait for her, glancing at the photos on the mantelpiece again as I passed through. The portrait of her parents cradling their newborn daughter caught my attention. Even so early in their marriage, a distance had developed between them, judging by the way they leaned away from one another. Or perhaps I just imagined it.

I angled the photo of Bella and her father at Disneyland a fraction of a centimetre to the right. Once the dust gathered again, nobody'd ever notice it had been moved.

Presently, I heard her bedroom door close; I was waiting at the bottom of the stairs before she'd made it half way down. There was a glimpse of white ankles under the hem of a long skirt, but I didn't pay attention to what colour it was; she was wearing that deep blue blouse I loved so much.

"Okay," she chirped, bounding right into me. "I'm decent."

I caught her, forced to hold her at a careful distance as her scent nearly overwhelmed me then excited me almost more than I could tolerate. How was it possible for one small human to be so delicious?

"I beg to differ," I whispered in her ear. "You are utterly indecent. No one should look so tempting. It's entirely unfair."

"Tempting how?" she asked frantically. "I can change . . ."

"Don't change a thing," I sighed, pressing my lips to her forehead. "You're perfect."

Her breath quickened as I drew her close, and I felt a shiver flow down her spine. My breath matched hers as our lips met, hers parting slightly, beckoning me deeper. No longer did she taste like toothpaste.

And just like yesterday, her kiss became frenetic. I was worried she'd collapse into me and we'd go tumbling down the stairs. I could break her fall if I kept my wits about me, but her kiss was doing things to my body that made me realize we'd both be in trouble if I didn't stop it.

"Be good," I reprimanded, extricating her fingers from my hair. It physically hurt to push her away like that when all I wanted was to pull her closer.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking away. I tilted her chin with one finger so she was facing me again. Her cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated.

"You'll have to be on your best behaviour when you meet my parents, you know," I chuckled. "They're very old-fashioned."

"You started it."

I straightened her collar. "Absolutely not. I just happen to be very partial to the colour of that blouse against your skin."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, I'm trying really hard not to think about what I'm about to do here—and your family will probably think I'm insane, anyway. Can we just go?"

"You're sure you're ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"And you're worried, not because you're headed to a houseful of vampires, but because they might not approve of you, correct?"

"That's right."

"You're incredible," I laughed.

I realized, as we drove out of town, that she probably had no idea where I lived. Few people knew where our property was, actually. The address was no secret, but the location was purposely obscure. We liked our privacy.

We chatted about my family a little. I wanted to prepare her to meet them as best I could, and she seemed genuinely interested. She asked why I was the only one who could read minds, and why Alice could see the future.

"We don't know, really. Carlisle has a theory . . . he believes we all bring something of our strongest human traits with us into the next life, where they are intensified—like our minds, and our senses. He thinks that I must have already been very sensitive to the thoughts of those around me. And that Alice had some precognition, wherever she was."

"And what did he bring into the next life—and the others?"

"He brought his compassion. Esme brought her ability to love passionately. Emmett brought his strength, Rosalie her . . . tenacity. Or you could call it pigheadedness," I chuckled. "Jasper's very interesting. He was quite charismatic in his first life, able to influence those around him to see things his way. Now he can manipulate the emotions of those around him—he can calm down a room of angry people, for example, or excite a lethargic crowd if he wants to. It's a very subtle gift."

"Interesting," she mused, and I couldn't tell what she thought of that, either by her tone of voice or her expression. I felt a twinge of worry.

As we exited the highway, I worried too about what she'd think of our home. It was spacious—luxurious—compared to hers. Would she feel out of place there? Unwelcome? Would it even matter to her?

The truck chugged up the winding driveway, and I could soon sense that my parents were the only ones home. Evidently, Rosalie hadn't gotten over her pique, and Emmett was probably still trying to placate her. It did surprise me a little that the other two weren't there; especially considering how excited Alice had been last night about Bella's visit.

No doubt they were hunting somewhere nearby. Jasper was a careful person and he'd want to do everything he could to prepare himself for a human visitor, especially one with a scent as potent as Bella's. I was glad she'd meet my family in pairs—anything to put her at ease.

We drew closer, and through Carlisle's eyes I could see Esme, a tidying dervish whirling about the living room, plumping sofa cushions and dusting the keys of the Steinway. She smiled as he came forward to take her hand and wait with her. They'd already heard the muted roar of the approaching truck.

"I hope she likes us," she whispered to him. _I hope we don't frighten her . . . _

She was immensely excited; she'd already made up her mind she would love Bella. Carlisle had too. He was preoccupied with work though. He hadn't expected he'd be called in today . . .

"Wow," Bella exclaimed, drawing my attention. We'd rounded the last bend in the road, and she'd just caught her first glimpse of the house.

"You like it?" I asked.

With typical understatement, she told me the place had a certain charm. Nervous as she obviously was, she still kept her sense of humour.

Smiling, I exited the vehicle, circling around at my speed to open the passenger door. "Ready?"

"Not at all." She gave a nervous laugh, glancing in the rear view mirror so she could smooth her hair.

"You look lovely," I declared, to reassure her. She took the hand I offered, squeezing it tightly as we walked through the shade towards the porch.

Her tension increased as we mounted the steps; I tried to ease it by massaging the back of her hand with my thumb, but her heart only raced faster as I ushered her inside. Esme and Carlisle could hear it where they waited too, by the piano, to the left of the front door. They smiled in welcome but made no move to approach lest they frightened her. I placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her gently forward.

"Carlisle, Emse—this is Bella."

_What a heartbreaker,_ Esme thought, whispering to Carlisle in a pitch too low for human ears, "Oh, but she's exquisite. Have you ever seen such a sweet face?"

He answered her with a broad smile, and stepped carefully forward to greet our guest. I saw her tremble as she took the hand he offered, and it was hard not to believe she wasn't afraid of him—rather of what his opinion of her might be.

"Welcome, Bella," he said warmly.

"It's good to see you again, Dr. Cullen." Her voice wavered, but she kept her grip on his hand despite his cold touch. He paid attention to that, and he thought she was brave.

In that same instant he appraised her health keenly, measuring the recovery she'd made since the last time he'd seen her. The day of the car accident.

"Please, call me Carlisle," he urged. He noted that she'd grown a quarter of a centimetre in the interim.

"Carlisle." She repeated his name with a grin, immediately appearing much more at ease. Indeed, we all were.

It was Esme's turn to step forward and she did so, offering her hand and a smile as welcoming as Carlisle's. "It's lovely to meet you," she said sincerely.

"Thank you," Bella replied shyly. "I'm happy to meet you too."

Esme was delighted by Bella's good manners and impressed by her bravery. And only now did she understand how difficult it had been for me to be around her these past few months. Her scent did not call to her in the way it did to me, but she found it enticing nonetheless.

_He's gentle with her, even so. And tender. It's remarkable. _She nudged Carlisle with barely suppressed motherly delight, and I was very glad to be the only who could hear her gushing internal monologue.

"Where are Alice and Jasper?" I asked by way of interruption, but I needed no reply. I'd just heard them land on their bedroom patio, and in the next instant they were at the top of the staircase.

"Hey, Edward!"

Alice rocketed straight down the stairs, giving no thought to the fact that her natural movements might startle our guest. Nor did she pay heed to the pleas for restraint my parents and I whispered as she did.

"Hi Bella." She bounded forward to kiss her cheek. _At last . . . _Every fibre of her being hummed with delight. For how long, exactly, had she waited for her? I was shocked by the brief glimpse of the visions she'd kept secret all this time.

Now she anticipated the time of laughter and camaraderie to come, an era yet tainted with shadows of Bella in pain . . . Bella immortal . . . I had to shut her out.

Bella seemed to sense my sudden tension; Alice did too but she ignored it. Instead, she inhaled deeply of the fragrance coming off her hair, and pushed her a little away to look at her properly.

_Hello, sister_. "You do smell nice—I never noticed before," she remarked aloud, and to Bella's evident embarrassment. _Delicious, in fact_, she added, with a wink.

Esme and Carlisle were downright mortified and I was fighting frustration myself, when, from the foot of the stairs, a soft wave of calm washed over us.

_Don't pay the little bird no mind. She's just excited is all. _As always, Jasper was able to gauge just the right moment to step in and apply his gift.

He greeted Bella, keeping his distance and not offering to shake her hand. He was reticent, but he wanted to welcome her as best he could.

"Hello, Jasper." She was shy again but turned to smile at my whole family, each in turn. "It's so nice to meet you all—you have a beautiful home."

"Thank you," Esme replied. "We're very glad you came."

And she had Bella's complete attention, which gave me a moment alone with Carlisle.

"What's wrong?" I whispered. He was troubled about being called in to work, but not because it was a Sunday.

_Nothing, really. I've been asked to conduct an autopsy on a body found near the Rayonier mill this morning. _He'd been given no further information other than that it appeared to have been the result of an animal attack.

"Should we be worried?"

_I'm not sure. Alice hasn't seen anything untoward. _She'd been monitoring the nomadic vampires for some weeks now, and they'd disappeared under her radar. _In any event, I'm not at liberty to discuss it . . . and Little Pitchers have big ears. _I followed his pointed glance to see Bella surreptitiously look away from us. _Keep her close, just in case_, he advised.

"Do you play?" Esme was asking, noting her preoccupation with the Steinway. _You're neglecting your guest, _she reminded me_._

"Only if you consider 'Chopsticks' _playing_." Bella rolled her eyes self-effacingly and gestured at the piano. "It's so beautiful; is it yours?"

"No," Esme laughed. "Didn't Edward tell you he was musical?"

"Not in so many words." She glared at me. "I s'pose I should've known though."

Esme didn't understand what she was getting at.

"He can do everything, right?" Bella explained.

_Everything but read your mind._ And Jasper's snicker caused Esme to shoot me a disapproving glare.

"I hope you haven't been showing off," she scolded. "It's rude."

"Just a little bit," I admitted, laughing as I remembered the way I'd flown through the forest with Bella on my back last evening. If that wasn't showing off, nothing was.

_She's delightful, dear, _Esme thought. _And she's brought out the best in you._

"He's been far too modest, actually," Bella pointed out.

"Well, that won't do at all," Esme chastised. "You must play for her."

"You just said that showing off was rude," I objected.

"There are exceptions to every rule," she demurred. _Mustn't disappoint the young lady…_

"_I'd_ like to hear you play," Bella volunteered.

"Me too," Alice whispered.

Yes_, play for us Edward,_ Jasper pleaded gleefully.

"It's settled then," Esme decided, pushing me determinedly toward the piano.

I wasn't about to give a solo performance. Bella would accompany me, no matter how much it embarrassed her. I pulled her along, sitting her on the bench beside me and giving her an exasperated glare for good measure before turning to the keys.

I played a few bars, and everyone chuckled at Bella's reaction to my musicianship.

Without pause, I turned to her. "Do you like it?" I asked.

"You wrote this?" she gasped, understanding.

I nodded. "It's Esme's favourite."

She closed her eyes, swaying to the rhythm. "So beautiful," she murmured.

"You inspired this one," I told her, segueing to a variation of the lullaby I'd written for her. There was no doubt she recognized the tune I'd hummed to help her sleep; her eyes shone with emotion.

"They like you, you know," I said. "Carlisle and Esme, especially."

She glanced around, but my family had cleared out—very subtly giving us some privacy.

She sighed. "_They_ like me. But the others . . . "

"Well, Emmett thinks _I'm_ a lunatic, it's true, but he has no problem with you. He's actually trying to reason with Rosalie."

"What is it about me that upset her?"

"She struggles the most with . . . what we are. It's hard for her to have someone on the outside know the truth. And she's a little jealous." Now _that_ was an understatement.

"Of what?"

"You're human." I shrugged. "She wishes she was, too."

"Oh," she mumbled, evidently still stunned. "Even Jasper, though . . . "

"Ah. Remember I told you he was the most recent to try our way of life? He wishes you no ill will; he just feels it's best if he kept his distance for the time being."

She shivered, no doubt thinking about the reason behind his choice.

"Alice seems very . . . enthusiastic," she observed instead, and I felt my teeth clench.

"She's got her own way of looking at things."

"And you're not going to explain that, are you?" she surmised. She knew I was keeping something from her, though she seemed content to let it go for now.

I picked out the first few bars of a Chopin etude, watching her as I did. I followed her gaze as she took in the expanse of the great room.

"Not what you expected, is it?"

"Not really, no," she admitted.

"No coffins, dungeons, or moats. And Esme makes short work of any cobwebs she might find. What a disappointment this must be to you."

She ignored my teasing, gesturing to the wall of glass before us. "It's so light . . . so . . . open, you know?"

_So normal . . . ?_ We were civilized creatures after all. But this was our sanctuary, and evidently she could see that.

I sighed. "It's the one place we don't have to hide."

The etude drifted to a close, and I wove in the melody of her lullaby before letting the last note fade poignantly into silence. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to brim over. Embarrassed, she dabbed at them.

"Thank you," she murmured.

She'd missed one. I trapped the warm droplet with my finger before it could fall, and examined it. Like her skin, it held her scent, only not so concentrated. I wondered what it would taste like. Would it inoculate me? Without thinking about it, I put my finger to my mouth, and found that it was good—salty-sweet, and intimate, like her kiss.

I'd moved too swiftly for her human eyes to take it all in, but she'd definitely caught something. She must have been wondering what I'd done. I gazed back for a long moment before I finally smiled.

"Would you like to see the rest of the house?" I offered.

"No coffins?" she verified, the irony in her voice not entirely masking the anxiety of her suddenly elevated pulse.

"No coffins," I promised, chuckling. I took her hand as we rose from the piano bench.

I gave her the guided tour, starting with the kitchen first. Curious, Bella opened a drawer next to the convection oven that was full of pots and pans. Esme had left some canapés on the island, and a small box of chocolates as well. Bella turned to me, one eyebrow raised.

"Esme seldom gets to entertain. You've given her an excuse to use the kitchen for a change."

"Why do you have a kitchen if you don't need to cook?" she wondered.

"We don't need to bathe either, but we still have bathrooms," I pointed out.

"So I noticed. Again, why?"

I grinned. "Resale value, mainly. But we like our human comforts too."

I led her out the other side of the open hallway to the foot of the staircase, bypassing the doors to the garage and the business office. Her hand trailed the railing as we ascended.

"Graduation caps?" She pointed a collage on the wall between first and second floors.

"Ah, yes. It's a private joke. I raised an eyebrow. "We matriculate a lot."

"Wow, that must be pretty miserable—repeating high school, over and over."

And I had been miserable before I'd met her, had I but realized it. I'd only felt the unbearable ennui—so much so, that I'd considered dropping out entirely and leaving the fold to be on my own for a while. I probably wouldn't have ever gone through with it. Our family bond was too important, and it was forefront in my mind when I answered her.

"Sometimes. But the younger we pretend to be when we start out in a new place, the longer we can stay there."

On the second floor, I ushered her past the others' bedrooms and Carlisle's study. I would have continued had she not stopped dead again at the end of the hall, to stare incredulously at the huge wooden cross that hung on the wall.

"It must be very old," she guessed.

I shrugged. "Early sixteen-thirties, more or less."

"Why do you keep it here?"

"Nostalgia. It belonged to Carlisle's father."

"An heirloom?"

"In a sense. He carved it himself. It hung on the wall above the pulpit in the vicarage where he preached."

The simple construction was the only memento of Carlisle's human live, salvaged before his father's crumbling church was razed to the ground during the Industrial Revolution. Docklands warehouses now stood on what was once holy ground.

She'd been so calm up to this point, but I could see she was struggling to wrap her mind around the concept of Carlisle's history. So many years lived. Centuries. A myriad of emotions crossed her face.

"Are you all right?" I wondered if this was the beginning of the end. Should I continue the story, or would it all be too much for here?

"How old is Carlisle?" She deliberately kept her gaze on the cross above.

I swallowed. "He just celebrated his three hundred and sixty-second birthday."

Did she wonder what he must have seen during his long life—and what he must have done? Did it disturb her to realize that he'd continue to exist long after the marks on her tombstone had worn smooth, much like the faded etchings on the cross before her? All of us would.

I was unsure, but when her gaze met mine again, a thousand unspoken questions lingered there—questions that deserved honest answers.

Carlisle was our progenitor, and our Rock. And after my own story, his was probably the simplest to tell. It was at once the most believable, and the most fantastic. It was the stuff of legend.

Tentatively, I began the tale of the preacher's son—the willful, intelligent young man forced into a vocation not of his own choosing, unwillingly joining his father's crusade to purge England of Catholics, miscreants . . . and agents of the Devil.

I told her how his intelligence and persistence had helped him succeed where his father had failed, to unearth a coven of true vampires living in the London sewers, and how he'd pursued them through the streets one night with the aid of a hunting party. To this day, it made me laugh to think of humans hunting vampires. As if their faith in God could have protected them.

I was glad that his memories of his death and transformation were vague enough that I'd been spared of all but the most vivid and painful. The rest, I was safely able to edit for her. But it never ceased to amaze me that he had the wherewithal to hide himself after he suffered the monster's bite. He knew what he'd become, and what his father would do when he found out. It was better he were presumed dead.

So too, did I find it miraculous he could endure the venom fire without crying out. Then again, after his compassion, stoicism is probably his strongest trait.

"It was over then, and he knew what he was. He tried to destroy himself, but that's not easily done . . . " I broke off, unsure of what to make of the look on her face.

"How are you feeling?" I just had to know.

There was horror—but more importantly, pity in her eyes now—for my father, not for herself, and the unbelievable history I'd just asked her to understand. I shouldn't have been taken aback; if there was one thing I'd learned about her, it was that her capacity for compassion nearly equaled his.

"I'm fine," she assured me, and though she bit her lip hesitantly, I could see the fire of curiosity burning in her eyes.

"I expect you have a few more questions for me," I predicted.

"Just a few."

Her gift for understatement never failed to amuse me, and her patience acceptance of what I'd told her so far gave me courage to go on.

"Come on, then." I took her by the hand. "I'll show you."

* * *

**Chapter Notes:**

1. Edward is reading Wordworth's poem, "Cuckoo at Laverna." The line is taken out of context to suit my own.

2. Rayonier Inc. is a pulp & paper milling company that operates in the Olympic Penninsula.

* * *

**A/N:** "Wait a minute! Wasn't Alice supposed to have seen some 'visitors' coming? Isn't that what Carlisle whispered to Edward?" That was true in Canon, yes. Indulge me please, gentle readers, as the story meanders away from strict interpretation for a while. There are some plot detours that I want to explore.

**As always, thank you for reading ~ W**


	24. History

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. All dialogue borrowed from _Twilight_ is purely for clarification. No infringement of copyright is intended, only my admiration.**

**Many thanks to my beta Lezlee, and to my brother, the Headbanging Professor, who knows _exactly_ how a Rickenbacker sounds different from a Gibson Les Paul. **

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

Sweetness Follows - R.E.M.  
Into the Mystic - Van Morrison

**Image gallery for this chapter:** s830 . photobucket user / Woodlily _ 2010 / slideshow / History

* * *

**HISTORY**

"What happened then?" Bella turned to me expectantly. "When he realized what he'd become?"

She was contemplating an etching of the city of London as she asked me that; I'd taken her back down the hall to see the artwork in Carlisle's study. In his long life, my father had met many of the Great Masters as well as talented impresarios not so well-known. Visscher hadn't been one of them; he'd bought the piece because it represented the city as it was in the time of his youth. Before he was changed.

She waited patiently for my answer, and I thought it was a pity that he'd been called to work. He'd have told his own story so much better than I could.

"When he realized what he'd become, he despaired. He railed against God. And the Devil. He tried to destroy himself, but that's not easily done."

"What did he do?" The question tumbled out; even she looked shocked as she asked it.

"Everything humanly possible. Unfortunately, he was no longer human. Nevertheless, he retained an appetite—and a voracious one, at that. It so repelled him that he tried to starve himself."

"Is that possible?"

"It's amazing that he was able to resist . . . feeding . . . while he was still so young. The instinct is very powerful then—it takes over everything. But to answer your question: no. There are very few ways we can be killed."

I was fairly certain of what she was going to ask me next and I didn't want the conversation to go down that path. Instead, I directed her attention to a moody Rembrandt. The shadowy landscape depicted a countryside much like the bleak moors to which he'd fled in those first few months. The muted colours depicted despair. No matter how many times Carlisle had told me about his newborn life, I still couldn't fathom the depths of misery to which he must have plummeted as he wandered, alone, the memories of his human life fading faster with each sunset.

"He strayed as far as he could from the human populace, starving himself, loathing what he'd become. And he felt his will was weakening rapidly. He realized it would be only a matter of time before he was overcome.

"It was serendipity that saved him, really. One night, a small herd of deer passed his hiding place. Weak though he was, he attacked on instinct. His strength returned, as did his clarity of thought. He realized there was an alternative to being the monster he feared. Over the next few months his new philosophy was born. He found himself again."

"A vegetarian vampire." She pointed to a bright spot on the canvas: the break in the storm—imagining, no doubt how it must have been for him to see the light of hope at last.

"Deer blood was unpalatable. You never really acquire a taste for it. But he found that as long as he remained sated, he could accustom himself to being amongst humans again. He began to make better use of his time. He'd always been intelligent and eager to learn; now he had perfect recall too. He studied by night, learning about the great advances in science and the arts that were taking place on the Continent. He formulated a plan, eventually swimming to France and-"

"He _what_?"

"People swim the Channel all the time, Bella," I reminded her patiently.

She thought about that. "I suppose they do. It just sounded weird in that context. Go on."

I explained that swimming is easy for us because we don't need to breathe, watching astonishment cross her face, followed rapidly by disbelief when I added that we could go without oxygen indefinitely—that the only reason we retained the habit of breathing was to facilitate our sense of smell.

Would she understand now? Would she see beyond our veil of humanity and realize we truly were alien? That she had no business fraternizing with us? It was right and proper for that to happen, but it hurt me to think about it.

Evidently, she saw that. She stroked my cheek with the back of a finger.

"What is it?"

The maiden comforting the monster. It was all so very wrong. I sighed, feeling the weight of the conflict within me.

"I know at some point, something I tell you or something you see is going to be too much. And then you'll run from me, screaming as you go." And she looked startled—as if the notion had never even occurred to her.

"I want that to happen," I went on. "It _should_ happen because I want you to be safe. And yet, I want to be with you . . . " The two desires were impossible to reconcile.

"I won't run away," she vowed. My brave, foolish girl. She wouldn't be so adamant once I'd told her everything.

"We'll see."

"So, go on." She was impatient for more. "Carlisle was swimming to France."

"Yes, he was. We'd better not leave him in the water. Once he got there, the universities of Europe opened a new world to him. By night he studied music, science, and the law. He felt alive once again."

Reflexively, my eyes flickered to the brightest, most ornately framed canvas on the wall, one twice as wide as the door it hung next to. Among the saints and prophets ascending to Heaven were depicted other beings not quite so holy.

"A vampire he met in France told him about others of their kind. Civilized, educated beings who kept a permanent home somewhere in Italy. He was curious, so he set out to find them."

"And did he?"

I pointed to a sedate quartet of figures seated on a cloud, looking down on the beings below.

"Aro, Marcus, and Caius." I indicated the first three, two raven-haired, one white as snow. Those weren't their real names, of course. Their true identities had long ago been lost to history. I heard Bella's startled laugh as she recognized the fourth member of the group—the man with the golden hair.

"Aro became especially fond of Carlisle. He didn't understand him of course—none of them did. Though they admired his zest for learning, they were baffled by his aversion to 'his natural food source', as they put it."

I tapped the canvas. "Solimena was greatly inspired by Carlisle's friends. He often painted them as gods." In fact, Solimena had been terrified of them—and rightly so—but their early patronage had allowed him to found a large and very successful atelier. He knew on which side his bread was buttered.

"It was in Italy that he found his calling studying medicine. He sees it as a penance, but I call it his gift. It took him decades of tortuous effort to perfect his self-control. Now he's all but immune to the scent of human blood, and he can do the work he loves without pain. He finds a great deal of peace saving human lives."

There was no need to tell her that he'd perfected his impeccable control by repeatedly subjecting himself to watching the Volturi feed. Nor did she need to learn how their initial bemusement at his lifestyle choice soon turned to suspicion.

"What happened to them?"she wondered.

They feared that other members of their Guard might adopt his diet. Dissension in the ranks would erode their power. He'd suspected their duplicity and left before they could destroy him.

But I just shrugged. "They're still there. As they have been for who knows how many millennia. Carlisle only stayed with them for a few decades. He decided to try the New World—dreaming of finding others like himself. He wandered for a long time, not finding anyone, but he could interact with unsuspecting human as if he were one of them so he began practicing medicine. Still, the companionship he craved eluded him; he couldn't risk familiarity."

It was loneliness that finally drove him to act when he found me, alone and dying, in 1918. "He wasn't absolutely sure how his own transformation had occurred, so he was hesitant. And he was loath to steal anyone's life the way his own had been stolen. There was no hope for me, so he decided to try . . . " For a time, I was lost in a century of memories. Mine and his; good and bad. He'd never given up on me. Truly, I owed him everything.

I smiled down at her eager face. "And so we've come full circle," I concluded. And we _had_, but by no means did she know everything. There were more stories to tell—and I had more to show her, but not here.

"Have you always stayed with Carlisle, then?" she asked, as if reading my thoughts.

"Almost always." I placed a hand lightly on her waist to guide her through the door, debating as we walked towards my room, how much detail about my nomadic years was appropriate to reveal right now.

"Almost?" And of course my evasion only made her ever more curious. She was like a dog with a bone!

I sighed. Not even Carlisle knew the full story of everything that had happened back then—and what I'd become. She certainly wasn't going to hear all of it now. Maybe someday . . .

"The first time I went to Europe was about ten years after I was born . . . created . . . whatever you want to call it. I had a typical bout of rebellious adolescence, I suppose. I wasn't sold on the life of abstinence Carlisle espoused, and I resented him for curbing my appetite. So I went off on my own for a while."

I'd wandered the eastern half of the continent before stowing away on board a steamship. Climbing aboard unseen and unheard had been easy; the difficult part had been refraining from feeding during the week-long voyage. For by then, my need for human blood had been almost insatiable.

"Really?"

"That doesn't repulse you?" She'd sounded intrigued when she should have been appalled.

"No."

"Why not?" It had hardly been a backpacking trip. I'd murdered men in cold blood.

But she just shrugged. "Everybody makes bad choices, don't they?"

And I couldn't help but laugh, transient though the humour was. The weight of the guilt I still carried was heavy.

"I thought I'd be exempt from the . . . depression . . . that accompanies a conscience. Because I knew the thoughts of my prey, I could pass over the innocent and pursue only the evil. But as time went on, I began to see the monster in my eyes. I couldn't escape the debt of so much human life taken, no matter how justified."

"Was it hard to stop?"

I halted in mid-stride, taking her chin gently between my thumb and forefingers and tilting her face so I could look right into her eyes.

"Until I . . . _stopped_ myself the day I met you . . . it was the hardest thing I ever had to."

"But you did," she whispered, and I wasn't sure if she was referring to all those years past, or just a few short months ago.

"Cold turkey," I confirmed, and it was her turn to laugh. "It's the only way. Once our palates become accustomed to human blood, it's almost impossible to stop.

"I'd returned to America by that point, and it was easy enough to find Carlisle and Esme." They'd purposely kept the same home we'd lived in before I left. They'd wanted me to find them. "They welcomed me back like the prodigal. It was more than I deserved."

We'd arrived at the door at the end of the hall. "My room," I informed her, opening it and ushering her in.

She stood in the doorway, her gaze first drawn out through the sunlit wall of glass and across the river towards the glistening Olympic Ranges. Her eyes widened as she looked around the room itself. I'd tidied it hastily last night, but it was still hopelessly cluttered. She didn't remark on the mess; she gestured at the row of stringed instruments in stands against the wall.

"Esme wasn't kidding when she said you were musical."

I didn't really know what to say. I scratched the side of my nose though it wasn't itchy.

"How come you have so many guitars?"

There weren't _that_ many: not counting the twelve-string, I had six.

"Uh, well, it depends on what sort of sound the music calls for. This one"—I pointed to the Rickenbacker—"has a bright sound, like bells; whereas that one's a little more rock and roll." I indicated the new Gibson.

"And the little one?"

"That's not a guitar at all; it's a mandolin." I played a few bars of melody for her, which she seemed to enjoy.

"Pretty," she commented but evidently she didn't recognize the tune. "Did you write that, too?"

"No, no," I replied hastily. Maybe my playing wasn't as proficient as I'd thought. But it was quite a well-known piece. "I haven't been playing for long. I'm not very good yet."

"Right."

She sounded skeptical; and I couldn't understand her expression. Maybe I was showing off again. I hadn't meant to. I put the mandolin back in its stand, watching her turn to peruse the bookshelves. Her smile returned as she recognized a few of the novels that we owned in common.

"What are you reading right now?" she asked.

I was suddenly embarrassed by the elitist literature strewn on the coffee table. After all, who read Herodotus in Greek for pleasure?

"I've got a few books on the go," I replied, stepping in front of it. "Nothing very exciting."

She began to tell me about a book she was reading that was written from the perspective of a fairy tale villain.

"But you knew that already, right?" she verified. "You've seen it on the table by my bed. Speaking of which . . . where's yours?"

The abrupt segue caught me off guard. I blinked, not understanding.

She gestured around the room. "You don't sleep on the couch?"

"Um… no. I-I don't sleep at all." I toed the rug nervously.

"Ever?"

"None of us do. We _can't_." Would this straw be the piece of information that finally broke the camel's back?

She blew air out between her cheeks. "I guess that explains a lot," she finally acknowledged, and I was relieved until she raised an eyebrow and whipped her head around.

"The others, though . . . ?" She was facing me now but still pointing down the hall. She'd seen the king-sized beds through the open doorways of some of the bedrooms.

"_Oh_." Thankfully she put two and two together, saving me from having to explain.

We stared at one another awkwardly for a moment before she turned to peruse the bookshelves some more, commenting on one or two more titles that she liked. It wasn't long before she noticed the photographs. They weren't in any particular place of prominence; I just liked having them around.

"Is that you?" She picked up a picture of a tow-headed baby.

"It was my christening portrait."

"Look at those cheeks," she chuckled. "So fat!"

That was the only time in my existence I could ever have been described that way. By all the accounts I'd read in my boyhood journals, my mother expended a great deal of time and effort in 'feeding me up'. Even before I caught the influenza, I was thin.

I was thin, too, in the photograph I handed her next, a family portrait taken on my parents' twentieth wedding anniversary. The inscription on the back read _14 May, 1918_. I didn't remember sitting for the photograph; and I only learned the significance of the date after reading some legal documentation Carlisle had brought to my attention.

Bella studied it glancing back and forth at me several times . . . considering.

"You're tall, like your father. But you resemble your mother, I think."

"A lot of people have said that."

It was true. I'd had _exactly_ her colouring before I was changed. And in my journal the previous Christmas, I'd noted with pleasure that I'd actually grown taller than my father.

I pointed at the likeness of myself. "But, see, I don't need glasses anymore." And my nose was straight now. Then, it had been slightly off-kilter—the souvenir of a childhood sports injury.

She placed the photograph on her lap. "What were they like?"

"I have almost no memory of my parents," I said flatly. "If it wasn't for this, I wouldn't even know what they looked like anymore."

She looked shocked. "You don't miss them?"

I felt my breath hitch unnecessarily in my chest. "It's hard to miss what you don't remember."

Even as I said that, I knew I lied. I missed them terribly for just that reason. Her face puckered a little, and I realized how hard my voice must have sounded. I needed to explain.

"Carlisle thinks that our neural pathways alter, along with everything else, when we're changed. The connections to our human memories are severed. Eventually, we lose them. I have a few vivid memories from when I was very small, but as I grew older . . . I don't remember anything at all about the influenza, or my parents dying."

She tore her gaze from mine, back to the picture again, and I caught a glimmer of moisture in her eyes. Was she thinking about the childhood I'd lost, or about how fleeting the contentment of the family she was looking at would prove to be? Within six months of it being taken, we'd all be dead.

"Your father looks strict, but he had kind eyes. And I would say that your mother probably had a good sense of humour."

I wanted her to see just one more photograph today. I took it down from a shelf, brushing off the thin film of dust before I handed it to her.

"Carlisle and I sat for this on my eighteenth birthday."

It had been taken just before we moved to Ashland. It had probably been reckless to expose our existence so publically, but I'd come of legal age and wanted to mark the occasion. Carlisle had been so proud of my self-control; my eyes were golden like his, and I'd barely flinched at scent of the photographer's blood. Afterwards, I admitted to him that I'd held my breath for the entire session . . .

The duplicate he kept in his study was the first photograph he ever owned. To both of us, it signified the birth of our new family—one Esme would become part of within eighteen months.

Bella held those two photographs, taken nearly a year apart, in either hand. Me, with both of my fathers.

"Was this when you took his last name?"

"No. That was a few years later."

"You're still you," she decided finally, handing them back to me. "I'm glad he found you. And I'm glad he . . . what _do_ you call it?"

"You're glad he turned me?"

Yes, that's what she meant.

_Turned . . . Changed._

In truth, it was _she_ who'd changed me. Profoundly. Somehow she'd awoken the human within me. He'd been waiting to come alive for so long.

The silence that stretched between us was different now. Her dark eyes welled with empathy—moisture threatening to spill onto her cheeks again. Impatiently, she wiped at them and cleared her throat.

"You have so much music," she commented shakily, rising and walking towards the wall of CDs. " How have you got these organized?"

I told her what my system was but I wasn't really paying attention. I was thinking how relieved I was that she knew everything now, and accepted it all so calmly. And I hadn't expected it would make me so happy. I hadn't expected her to mourn for the boy who died in 1918, either. Did she know she'd brought him back to life?

"What?" she demanded, obviously noticing my thoughts were elsewhere.

"Nothing." I probably would have blushed if I'd been able to. "I'm glad you're here."

Her smile was gentle. "I am, too," she agreed, only to scoff a little. "But you're still waiting for the running and the screaming, aren't you?" She just shook her head impatiently.

I indicated the CDs, changing the subject. "Do you have any favourites?"

"Yeah." And she flushed. "But I'm embarrassed to tell you what they are . . . "

_Why would that be?_

"What are you listening to?" she asked, and I suddenly understood her unease about telling me. I _had_ been listening to a Mozart opera.

Last night, the grand idea of regaling her with the tale of Carlisle had met the young Maestro in Milan when he was just fourteen had seemed a very good one. Now, I was painfully aware that everything on that playlist was probably terribly pretentious. I picked up the remote and hit shuffle.

It was a song about a sailor longing for the lover he'd left on a distant shore. It was nearly forty years old, and I was certain she wouldn't know it. In fact, she'd probably hate it.

Instead, her smile was one of satisfied recognition. She started to sway a little in time with the music. She probably didn't even know she was doing it.

She closed her eyes, hugging herself for a moment. "That's a such a great song."

"My mom loves this album," she explained as she opened her eyes. "She played it all the time when I was little."

"She had a record player?"

"Yeah. Retro, huh?"

I didn't realize I'd taken hold of her hand. We were both swaying to the music now. She didn't realize it either, but she was dancing. Impulsively, I spun her, admiring the way her hair floated in the wake of her body. When faced me again, she looked taken aback.

"What?" I asked.

She laughed. "I can't dance." A ridiculous assertion because she was, quite adeptly, dancing with me right now and she knew it.

"Hm . . . " I took hold of her other hand, a mischievous smirk ghosting my lips. "I could always _make_ you."

"You wouldn't."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not scared of you." But she took half a step back.

"You _really_ shouldn't have said that," I chuckled, growling low in my throat. Then I shifted on my toes, half-crouched. Her eyes widened . . .

And I pounced, scooping over my shoulder and leaping through my forest escape before she had time to scream. I scaled the nearest tree, settling into the highest branch that I judged could take our combined weight.

"Do you trust me?" I asked over my shoulder. I wanted to show her something.

"Do I have a choice?"

_Always, Bella. Always. _"Then close your eyes."

And we were flying.

* * *

"All right, you can look now."

She gasped, clutching my shoulder involuntarily as she opened her eyes and realized how high up we were.

The river gorge spread out beneath our perch in the boughs of an ancient cypress—at this height, the surging waters made barely a gurgle. The densely forested hills folded themselves against the rising mountains and to the east, visible to vampire eyes only, were the volcanic cones of the Cascades.

"I've got you," I assured, settling closer so I could drape an arm over her shoulder. "I won't let you fall."

She moved in towards me, then turned to gaze at the vista below. When she turned to me, her question was obvious.

"I thought you might like to see the rest of the property."

"Your family owns this land?"

"Not all of it. See where the river takes a bend there, in the west? That more or less marks the park boundary."

"Wow," she breathed.

"This is one of my favourite places."

"I can see why. The view is . . . " She shook her head. "It doesn't seem real."

I had to smile. "It is in my world."

"It just goes on forever . . . Is that the ocean?" She was pointing to a blurred line on the western horizon.

"It is; yes." The coast was actually part of the Reservation.

I directed her attention a little to the south. "Do you see the eagle aerie over there?" The large nest looked empty, though I knew the younglings snuggled together, out of view. Dozing.

"There are two eaglets in the nest this year. Hopefully, they'll both survive . . . Eagles mate for life, did you know that?"

"I think I read that somewhere."

"The father's gone fishing."

She smirked. "And the mother?"

"Oh, she's quite close." I pointed straight into the sky to where the huge bird circled overhead. "She's very protective. She doesn't like me very much."

We watched her arc around the skyline for some time. Even at a distance, her wingspan was massive.

"You don't . . . hunt them?" Bella finally asked.

I rolled my eyes. "You know we can't fly. She's a predator too, and we respect that. We each have our own hunting grounds."

"Land and sky."

"And sea . . . Have you ever seen an eagle fishing?"

She shook her head.

"It's magnificent."

It was the pure precision of Nature embodied.

We sat silently, watching the great bird soar in a slowly descending circle until she landed on her nest. Even though we were a fair distance away, she was alert. Uneasy. There was another predator nearby, and she knew it. She would fight for her young if had to.

I watched Bella take in the beauty of the landscape around us—all of it paled compared to how lovely she was to me. The breeze picked up a tendril of hair, and I tucked it back behind her ear. The tip was pink, like her lips. She shivered as my cold fingers brushed the helix. I breathed in her scent, the venom pooling as it drew me closer.

She misread my hesitation.

"I'll be good," she promised, puckering her lips chastely. She pinned her arms to her side, but I didn't want that. I drew them around my neck instead, parting her lips with mine as they met.

She sighed and I felt her heart shudder, beating against the soft flesh underneath her blouse. Her bottom lip slipped between mine; warm and plump. The flesh tasted good. Sweet. As sweet as the nectar that pulsed beneath.

I wanted _that_. I had to hold my breath and draw away. Ashamed.

It would always be like this, walking the line between pleasure and pain—between death and desire. I had no right to force her to toe it too.

"It's okay," she whispered. But it wasn't. It never would be.

"Edward . . . " She took my face in her hands, pressing her forehead against mine tenderly. We stayed like that until we could both breathe normally. Eventually, she ducked her head, tucking it under my chin.

"What's that down there?" she asked after a while. She'd noticed a slice in the gorge. Puffs of cloud rose from between the trees.

I shrugged. "Steam from the hot springs, probably."

"You've got _hot springs_ on your property?" It was an accusation—as if I'd purposely hidden that information from her.

"They're all over the area. We're practically sitting on the Ring of Fire, you know."

It was true; springs like that were commonplace. The ones at Sol Duc attracted most of the tourists but there were plenty of others off the beaten track. They'd never interested me very much. She, on the other hand . . .

"Would you like to see them?"

"Yes!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious. "Hold on tight, then," I laughed. "It's a bumpy ride."

We were half way down the gorge in a few bounds, and she'd jumped off my back to see the top pool almost before I came to a stop.

"Keep back from the edge. It's slippery." But she barrelled straight ahead, ignoring my warning. I had to grasp hold of her hand so she wouldn't lose her balance on the rocky slope.

"There are three pools here," I explained. "This one's the hottest, but as they travel downhill the temperature cools. The bottom one mingles with river water and it's not much warmer than bathwater."

I winced as she dipped a finger straight into the steaming spring, then brought it to her lips with a yelp. Shamefully, I found myself wishing her finger was in my mouth. I had to remind myself that she might be injured; I took her hand and examined it to make sure the skin wasn't scalded. She smiled: fire and ice together again.

"There's a waterfall," she observed, craning her neck over the edge.

"Yes. The water loses a few degrees by that point, so it's like a warm shower. It's quite pleasant."

"Is it slippery getting down there?"

I nodded. "Another time, maybe?" I suggested.

"All right . . . Can we stay here for a while, though? It's nice and warm."

We ended up staying by the hot pools for most of the afternoon, just talking . . . sometimes kissing . . . We were content.

"I should get you home, I suppose," I reluctantly told her. The overcast sky had darkened ever so slightly. Evening was coming.

"I feel like I _am_ home. I like being in your world."

Noticing my troubled expression she sat up, her knees touching mine... I could see the gold and green flecks in her soulful eyes.

"Does that upset you?"

I took her hands between mine, unable to respond. What _could_ I say?

She sighed. "I guess you're right. I probably should get going." She stood up, brushing strands of grass off her skirt. "Next time I come here though, I want to see that waterfall. Properly."

"Then, next time you'll have to bring a bathing suit." I grinned, thinking about her wrapped in a thick towel and letting it drop off her shoulders to reveal a skimpy two-piece beneath. I really was deplorable.

Suddenly, I couldn't bear to the thought of being separated from her. "I'll drive," I blurted. It would give us a few more precious minutes together.

"Seriously? But you hate my truck."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. I can tell."

"Bella, I do not hate your truck. I wouldn't offer to drive you if I did."

"Huh. You should see the look on your face when you climb into the passenger seat."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The dispute continued as we travelled back to my house. She refused to believe it was impossible to hate an inanimate object. I did not consider myself so transparent she could assume the disdain I held for her mode of transportation. Even if it was true.

"I do hope we'll see you again, dear." Esme was the only one at home as we readied to depart. She gave her a warm hug.

Bella blushed, smiling sweetly. "'Bye, Esme. And, thank you."

I'd shut the passenger side door of the truck, when a whisper of noise and approaching movement distracted me. Emmett and Rosalie had returned.

Emmett winked at Bella, enjoying her shocked expression. Rosalie gave me a curt nod, but she didn't acknowledge Bella at all.

He nodded at me, encouragingly. _Told you she'd come around_.

I didn't believe that for a second. There was an aura of penitence about her though; and she didn't wear it well.

The rain had held off all afternoon, but I could smell moisture gathering in the atmosphere. It would pour again. It didn't matter to us, though. After I'd driven her home, we sat on her small front porch for a long time, talking again. I didn't want to leave.

"Your father's nearly here," I announced presently. I could hear the cruiser's engine in the distance, but not his thoughts, yet.

"And you have to go?" There was a note of hope in her voice that I was loath to dispel.

"No." I didn't have to be anywhere in particular. "He should probably meet me sooner rather than later."

"He already-" A little growl of frustration escaped as she realized her protest was futile.

I pressed her hand reassuringly. "I'm sure it'll be fine. I can't exactly leave now, anyway; he's almost here."

"_Great_."

It wasn't quite dusk but the encroaching clouds made for typically low light. I stood as the cruiser pulled up and the running lights turned on us. Bella reluctantly followed suit, carefully removing her hand from mine.

_What's this?_ Chief Swan wondered as he caught sight of me on the stoop.

"Hey, Bells," he called, frowning slightly as he stepped out. His gaze didn't leave us as he turned to extricate a cooler from the backseat.

_Is that who I think it is?_ His thoughts were uncharacteristically voluble—they always were when it came to his daughter.

"Er, hi, Dad," she mumbled sheepishly. "You remember Edward, right?"

He nodded. "Hello, Edward. I know your father." He'd been with my father for most of the afternoon in fact, attending a forensics investigation.

"Hello, Chief Swan," I greeted him respectfully.

"I bumped into him while I was returning some books at the library, and we got talking," she explained. "He wanted to see my truck. He likes . . . antiques."

He didn't completely believe her, but I caught a flicker of amusement in his eyes nevertheless. He acknowledged me with a brief smile and turned back to his daughter.

"Glad you're back. Billy and Jake'll be here soon." He raised the cooler in the air, cocking his head meaningfully.

It was clear by the look on her face she'd forgotten they were coming. "Oh, right," she exclaimed—a little too brightly. "Sunday night fish fry."

"Maybe you could throw together a salad, or something?"

She glowered at him. "I guess I could manage that."

He didn't seem to notice she was annoyed. He clapped her on the shoulder. "'Atta girl. I'll go clean up the fish."

"It'll be good to see Jake again anyway," she sighed, "They stopped by on Thursday night but they couldn't . . . stay."

She didn't move to follow her father in as he unlocked and opened the front door. Something in my expression evidently caught her attention.

I swallowed the flash of jealousy that surfaced as she spoke the boy's name. I didn't know where it came from; he was just a child. A Quileute child at that. If he was going to visit, then I couldn't stay here.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow," I said to her, nodding to her father as well. "Chief."

"See you," she replied wanly. I would liked to have kissed her goodnight, but it wouldn't have been appropriate with her father standing there.

"Hey, do you need a lift somewhere?" he asked abruptly. He knew I lived a fair distance out of Forks.

"No, thank you. My father's still at work. I'll catch a ride with him when his shift's finished." I was telling the truth. I also wanted a chance to speak with Carlisle, alone.

"See you around then, Edward."

As they went inside, Bella turned, jerking her thumb upwards, towards her bedroom. She mouthed the word, "Later?"

The door closed and I heard Chief Swan mutter, "I thought you said you didn't like any of the boys in town."

Through his eyes, I watched her face flush scarlet. Even now, that made my mouth water.

"Edward doesn't exactly live in town, Dad."

He gave her a disparaging glare. "Is he your _boy_friend?"

"Dad!"

"Just asking." His hands went out defensively but I felt him stifle a chuckle.

She sighed. "I don't know; it's kind of at an early stage. Just don't embarrass me with all the boyfriend talk, okay?"

"All right, all right."

I was disappointed that she didn't tell him that we'd spent the weekend together but maybe it was just as well. Black had already seen her fraternizing with the Quileute enemy; there was no telling what his reaction would be if he knew the extent of our relationship now.

My appearance had certainly surprised Chief Swan, but his mind was elsewhere as he set about cleaning the fish. He was thinking about my father's verdict at the autopsy that afternoon—that the mill worker's death had been caused by an animal attack. He was worried about a rogue bear or worse, a mountain lion. What if it was rabid? He knew that Bella liked to wander off on her own. She'd have to stay out of the woods.

He'd warn Billy to put the word out on the Rez too. The kids were savvy, but it wasn't safe for them to be fooling around out there, either . . .

* * *

I was playing with the timepiece on Carlisle's desk when he walked in. For a split second, he eyed me apprehensively. My visits to his office lately tended to forebode bad tidings, but he relaxed as soon as he sensed my mood.

_I take it your day went well?_

"Yes. Bella liked the house very much. And I showed her around the property. She enjoyed that too."

_I'm glad._ He hung his lab coat on a hook and sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. _She's a lovely girl. I'm happy for you, son_.

Even so, his happiness was tinged with worry for what the future held for the two of us. And rightly so.

"She introduced me to her father afterwards."

He nodded; it was the proper thing to do, after all. _And how did he react?_

"He was surprised, to say the least. But it went as well as I could have expected."

_That_ is _good . . . But why aren't you with her now?_

Every one of our kind experienced pain being separated from the ones they loved, even for a short time. He was discomfited even thinking about it. There was a strong image of Esme in his mind before he could put it aside and focus on the conversation at hand.

"They were expecting dinner guests. Friends from the Reservation."

_Oh?_

"I don't think we need to worry. Her father doesn't believe the insinuations Black's made about us in the past. He trusts you, implicitly."

I continued to toy with the timepiece. "He was thinking about the investigation at the mill today."

Carlisle was troubled by it too.

"Was it one of our kind, do you think? A nomad passing through?"

_The wounds could have been inflicted by a bear or a mountain lion, and that's the conclusion I've given to the humans._ There were animal tracks in the vicinity and no trace of venom at the scene. Any venom left behind would've evaporated long before Carlisle got there.

With nothing further to go on, his suspicions that the perpetrator was something unnatural remained just that. Alice too, had been adamant. She'd been watching the reckless nomadic vampires for months and nothing had given her reason to believe that their paths would cross with ours.

"Should we contact the Band Council? To warn them?" I was loath to suggest it, but it behooved us to act in good faith.

He chuckled darkly. _If that man had been killed by one of our kind, we'd have heard from them already. _Without doubt, he was right about that.

He stood, clapping me on the shoulder. _There's nothing we can do right now but remain vigilant. Besides, when it comes down to it, who's better equipped than we are to keep the humans safe?_

He was trying to bolster my spirits, but he was right about that too. For my part, I'd do everything in my power to keep Bella safe. It was my life's purpose now.

_Shall we stop to hunt on the way home?_ he asked. He knew me so well.

I realized that I was ravenous. "That's an excellent idea."

* * *

**A/N: **_What? No vampire baseball_, I hear you say? Well, no. Frankly, I'm ambivalent about baseball (Sorry, sportsfans). And I told you I was planning a detour from Canon, didn't I? I do hope you'll stick around for it, because it's proving to be interesting to write.

_**And, before I go, a rec: **_An author whose stories have greatly enriched my own history of the Cullen family is **Giselle-Lx**. You may have already read _Ithaca is Gorges_, her take on _New Moon_, written from both Edward and Carlisle's perspectives. **I also recommend the deftly-written **_**Stregoni Benefici,**_** as a must-read for any lover of Canon**. Nobody knows Carlisle like Giselle does - and this truly _is_ his story. The attention she pays to historical detail is exquisite. It's really top-notch fan fiction, folks. But don't take my word for it. Read it for yourselves: fanfiction s / 6437236 / 1 /

**And thank you all, very much, for reading this. **


	25. Tin Man

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters. I wish Edward was mine.**

**Thanks to Lezlee, who betad this amidst midterm chaos, and to my pre-readers Malianani and Miaokuancha for their always insightful comments.**

Many thanks also to my writing friends and the kind readers who encouraged me while I dealt with the demon Writer's Block. It was scary for a while there. I thought Edward had left me. But he knew where this chapter needed to go; I just had to be patient and wait for him to tell me. What follows is nothing like originally outlined, but he and I both feel it's much, much better.

* * *

**Playlist Pick:**  
Into My Arms – Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds youtube . com / watch?v = 7zeP9gj1Ucg

(I like this live version because it showcases Nick's talent on the piano).

* * *

_Previously, on Fox Fire: Edward and Bella enjoyed an afternoon exploring the Cullen homestead. Afterwards, Edward and Carlisle discussed the circumstances surrounding a suspicious death. We rejoin Edward much later that same night..._

**TIN MAN**

"What the hell do you think _you__'__re_ doing?"

The booming voice nearly scared me out of my skin. Swearing, scrabbling amongst the pine boughs, I fought to keep from plummeting to the damp earth below. It was a full second before I realized the question wasn't directed at me. I'd just happened to pause near a house on the outskirts of town when the man inside spoke out, rousing himself from sleep.

_Not __again__.__.__._ He'd woken his wife too. Though mildly annoyed, she was used to these late night outbursts.

"Ssh, Dan. You're dreaming."

I watched through her eyes as he peered into the darkness, disoriented.

"I swear I heard Tyler sneaking out back."

"He won't try that again. Not after the grounding you gave him last time."

I heard the rasp of stubble as he scratched his cheek.

"It was just the wind," she soothed, massaging his shoulders. "Now, go back to sleep."

I let out the unnecessary breath I'd been holding, but stayed where I was till they'd settled back under the covers. That had been too close, I decided, diving into the forest verge. The next time, I'd come into town the back way.

Forks slept, and I could hear the townsfolk dreaming. It was the natural order of things at this late hour. No one walked the streets – no one but me, unnatural and eternally awake, existing in the shadows between life and death. Most vampires relish the night, when they can move about freely and hunt their prey, but it was at night that my gift became more like a curse.

I'd been privy to human dreams since my new birth, and it took me a great deal of practice to be able to walk through a city at night without being overwhelmed by their sensory onslaught. I still found it difficult; I was grateful that, wherever we chose to live, it was always far enough from a populated area that I could get some respite from it.

How absurd it was that there was one human whose dreams I'd give anything to hear. But whatever mental armour it was that Bella possessed, she wore it night and day. Her white house was just across a few feet of lawn now. I leaped from the closest pine onto the wall, feeling the clapboard siding give slightly beneath my fingers.

The faint, musty aroma of a wet dog's fur was instantly cloying. Black and his son had left hours ago but their presence lingered distinctly. Remnants of it clung to the timbers as it did in the memory of Bella's sleeping father. I sensed that harsh words had been spoken between old friends. What had happened?

Had Black come to warn Chief Swan about me?

No doubt he'd informed the Band Council that he'd seen Bella and me together the other night—even though I'd done nothing wrong, and Forks was neutral ground. They probably knew I was here right now. I felt like they had eyes everywhere.

Old Quil had spoken the truth that night on the cliff top when he said that they watched us. They'd known that nomadic vampires had been hunting campers in Yellowstone. But, how?

I'd seen a lot of things in my lifetime that couldn't be explained by reason and science. Reason and science would have me dismiss the notion, but I couldn't help wondering if the Quileutes still communed with spirits in the way their ancestors once claimed to. Perhaps they weren't the diminished race we believed them to be.

It was wrong to push the boundaries of the treaty like this, but I had to see her. I had no intention of leaving her unprotected. Not after the death that had occurred on the weekend. Humans weren't safe in Forks.

Silly girl: why had she left the window ajar? All the heat in the room was leeching out and the radiator barely replenished it. It wasn't healthy for her to sleep in the cold; she'd just end up getting sick again.

Bella. My Bella. I vaulted the ledge, buffeted at once by her blood scent, riding the wave of sweet poison that made me whole. It felt like days had passed since we'd been together.

I wouldn't stay long.

My feet hit the floorboards without a sound, but I could tell by the cadence of her breathing that she was awake. At the faint scrape of the sash being lowered, she stirred, turning her sweet face to me.

"You came back."

It must have been the moonlight playing through the curtains that did it, but in that moment I saw her as the immortal beauty Alice predicted she'd one day become. Transfixed, I reached for that phantasm; hating myself instantly, I kneeled by her bed, penitent and charmed all at once.

"You should be asleep." Fainthearted admonition from a lovesick fool.

"I _couldn__'__t_ sleep. I missed you too much."

She sat up and took my hand, pulling me to sit beside her. If it weren't for the chill of my icy skin, I could have dived beneath those cosy blankets myself. I traced the length of her jaw with the backs of my fingers, allowing the tender friction to warm me instead.

"You'll be tired tomorrow."

"I don't like it when we're apart." She placed her free hand over her heart. "It hurts."

How well I knew that pain. My heart might not beat, but I could still feel it. I felt _everything_ now. How could it be a figment of my imagination when it was all so real?

"I don't like it, either," I admitted, reaching for a curl that had found its way out of her pony tail.

She smiled shyly, letting me play with it on my fingers, and her dove's eyes beckoned me closer. Her scent was more enticing than any perfume—like precious myrrh—and my lips were on hers before I knew it. She opened them to me, letting me taste the milk and honey there.

I could have kissed those lips until the sun came up but the pulse in her throat began to throb, echoed by an erratic pounding of her heart. My hand cradled her neck; I felt the beat under my thumb and for an instant the blood haze was all I could see. But she was the one who broke the kiss, turning away with a small gasp. I laughed softly, realizing what had happened. It let me regain some composure.

"Remember to breathe, Bella."

"Inconvenient human need," she grumbled, resting her cheek against my chest. "Too bad it's necessary for life."

She'd freeze with only the thin material of our shirts between us, so I grabbed the afghan off the rocking chair. She stretched out underneath it, warming me with the entire length of her slender body. We held each other like that, in contented silence, for a long time. Her breathing evened out, and she was quiet for so long that I began to wonder if she'd fallen asleep. I was startled when she finally spoke.

"Is it like this for everyone, do you think—being in love?"

Was it? Had any two people ever had such odds stacked against their happiness? Had anyone ever loved as we did?

She played with the button at my collar. "I mean, is it supposed to hurt so much? A couple of months ago I didn't even know you. Now, I feel like I couldn't live without you."

I didn't like to hear her say those things. I couldn't bear to think of a world in which she didn't exist.

"If something ever happened to you . . . "

I chuckled, pressing the end of her nose with a fingertip. "Fortunately, I'm pretty much indestructible."

But _she_ wasn't, and I couldn't stop fear from gripping my heart as I worried, for what seemed the hundred-thousandth time, that something might still happen to her because she knew me.

My diversion worked though; she laughed and snuggled closer. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm not sure. But I do know that, for my kind . . . we _feel_ things intensely. More so than humans . . . It's difficult to explain."

It would have been easier to show her. One look at my parents when they were together, said everything. The silent communication between Jasper and Alice spoke more eloquently than any volume of poetry, and Emmett's love for Rosalie was equally profound. He did everything wholeheartedly.

"_I_ feel things intensely." Bella nodded against my chest. "I must be like you, then."

"What?" she demanded, feeling my sudden tension. She turned, sitting upright to face me.

As she did, I saw her breasts sway underneath her t-shirt. I made myself look away, ashamed and also relieved that she couldn't see the part my body that had responded underneath the blanket. If she'd felt it, she chose to ignore it. Her train of thought steamed on.

"And you've never felt this way before? About anyone?"

I was quite certain that I'd never felt anything at all before I'd met her. I'd been frozen as the inexperienced boy I was in 1918. She'd brought me to life. I tilted her chin so I could look into her eyes, willing her to feel my truth.

"Never."

Her blush rose in a heat-wave from her heart, flushing even the helixes of her ears and I swallowed hard, trying not to think about how easily the path of sweet nectar under the skin could be diverted to fill my dry veins. That was not allowed. Not now; not ever.

"That makes me sad." She touched a hand to my cheek. "I don't like to think about you being alone all that time. You should have been loved."

I barked a laugh. I should have been imprisoned for all the terrible things I'd done in my past. If she only knew . . .

"You never had a girlfriend when you were human?"

"Oh . . . well, things were very different back then."

The Latin school I'd attended had been segregated. Girls were mysterious creatures I met at chaperoned social events, and by all accounts I'd been far from suave. Besides, I'd been obsessed with fighting in the Great War. This much, I'd been able to piece together from the diaries Carlisle had salvaged for me.

But, if I'd met Bella then, would I have courted her? Would I have tucked a lock of her hair into my breast pocket on the eve of battle, taking it to my death in some unmarked French grave?

"What about later? You said there are others of your kind . . . "

It was indelicate to talk about this. What I'd experienced of love and lust through the minds of others had been at best embarrassing, at worst downright horrific. Imagine hearing those thoughts, multiplied a thousand-fold every day, over the course of a century.

It was why I found it difficult to be around my Denali cousins for any length of time. Especially Tanya, though she tried harder than her sisters to be a friend to me. If Bella had those thoughts; I was glad I'd never know for sure.

"Nobody really caught my fancy, I suppose." I don't think I articulated my answer very well.

"Why not?" she demanded. "You could have anyone you want."

That was it; I did not want just _anyone_. I'd been waiting for her, had I only known it.

"All the girls at school are in love with you," she persisted.

And a few of the boys were too. There was no shame in what they felt. When they left the confines of this small town in a few years, they'd learn that for themselves.

"That's why Lauren spreads those rumours—to get back at you because you turned her down. You said no to Jessica too, right?"

They were both so jealous of Bella. She'd never believe the truth if I told it to her.

"Those girls don't matter. Remember, I told you that before?"

"I know . . . " She folded both her hands around one of mine. "You have to go soon, don't you?"

"I really should. You need your sleep."

"What's it like to be awake all the time?" She was like a little child, stalling before bedtime. "What do you do at night? When you're not watching me sleep, I mean. Where do you go?"

"Don't you ever run out of questions?"

"I want to know."

I kissed the top of her head. "I don't remember being able to sleep, so I can't tell you what it's like not to. And having so much free time on your hands can be quite boring, actually. It's _true_"—she'd just raised her eyebrows doubtfully at me—"And it's lonely too. I'm lucky to have my family. Most vampires don't."

Carlisle had known some who'd been driven mad by the ennui of immortality.

"Do you ever get tired?"

"Not in the same way you do."

"Do you dream?"

"Yes."

"Like, daydreams?"

I sighed. "_You__'__re_not about to dream anytime soon, are you?"

"Nope," she chuckled.

"All right, then. It's your turn." I reached beneath the bed for the sketchbook that lay there and opened it on her lap. "Tell me a story."

She gasped. "How did you know that-? Ugh, never mind." She scrubbed her face in her hand. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

I grinned at her.

"They're awful!"

"Not true. Why aren't you taking Art?"

"The class was full; they made me take Gym instead. Yay," she added facetiously, then folded her arms defiantly over her chest. We glowered at one another.

"Fine," she huffed, beginning to flick through the book. "Don't expect to be dazzled or anything . . . That's the view from my mother's back porch. She sits on that comfy chair to watch the sunrise every morning. Those mountains in the background are the McDowells."

She flipped the page. "This one's enlarged from a photo I took of her. I went through this phase where all I drew was hands. It's really hard to get them right, you know.

"Renee always says I've got her hands ." She looked away pensively. "I'm starting not to miss her so much. Do you think that makes me a bad daughter?"

She'd made her first steps at creating a life of her own by coming here. In another year, she'd leave to go to college. It was the way things were supposed to be. Would she forget me then, as she should? I didn't think she really wanted an answer to her question, so I let her go on.

"She didn't want me to move out. She never said so, but I could tell. But she and Phil belong together. If I'd stayed, she'd only have been unhappy."

"So you came here—and made yourself unhappy instead."

"Not so much, anymore," she said, brushing her lips against mine.

The beach scenery in the next drawing was immediately recognizable. "La Push hasn't changed since I spent summers there as a kid. I guess why would it, huh?" She voiced my unspoken thought. "Nothing ever changes around here."

The last sketch she showed me depicted her father napping on the lounge.

"Charlie and I do all right. We understand one other. And he works hard, you know? He puts everyone else before himself." _Like__ father,__like__ daughter._

"I can't resent the time he spends with his friends. He deserves it." She shook her head, perplexed, and I was immediately alert. "I just wish I knew what happened between him and Billy after supper tonight. One minute, they're sharing a few beers over the game; the next, they're in the middle of an argument."

I'd picked that much up from her father's memories. Apparently, they'd been discussing the death near the mill on Saturday—the same one he'd been thinking about when he got home. Black had taken Chief Swan's warning about a predatory animal seriously until he learned that Carlisle had been in charge of the autopsy.

"He said there were plenty of dangerous animals out in the woods and the Quileutes could take care of themselves. Besides, how would some big city doctor know the difference between a bear and a wolf print, anyway?

"'Not that old song and dance again', my dad said. He's mad because Billy won't let Carlisle treat his diabetes. And some other members of the tribe have started going to the clinic at Port Angeles too. Charlie thinks he should show them a good example because he's on the Band council, but he won't listen. Ugh, they're both so stubborn."

What I would have given to be a fly on the wall just then! It must have killed Black to remain silent, but he wasn't foolish enough to breach the treaty. I did wonder, though, if he'd made mention of seeing Bella and me together the other day.

"No, but he kept giving me this _look_, you know?" She bit her lip. "And then when he left he said"—she affected an ominous tone of voice—"'you take care, Bella'.

"He really does believe the stories about your family, doesn't he?"

She already knew about our animosity with the Quileutes. There was no need to sour her relationship with the Black family; Billy was her father's best friend, and she seemed genuinely fond of his son.

"I guess old prejudices die hard," was all I could say. She gave me a hard look, but didn't challenge it.

"Anyway, I felt sorry for Jake," she confided. "He was just embarrassed."

I started pulling on the end of her ponytail, trying not to think about how uncomfortable it made me when she spoke about him.

"_He__'__s_ not prejudiced. He doesn't think the stories are real."

_That's because he doesn't know any better . . . Yet. _"So you've said." I pushed the ponytail aside so I could bury my nose into the hairline just behind her ear.

She pushed me away with a chuckle. "You should meet him sometime."

I coughed cynically. "I don't think that would be a very good idea."

"What? Are vampires and Quileutes like matter and anti-matter, or something? The universe'll explode if you show up in the same place at the same time?"

I frowned. "Something like that."

"He's a nice boy."

Of course he was nice; he carried a huge torch for her. But I could tell that my comment had hurt her feelings.

"You like him a lot, don't you?"

"Our dads used to joke that we'd end getting married one day." She laughed while I struggled to bite back a wave of jealousy-o_ver__a__mere__boy!_

"He's my best friend. . . Best _human_ friend," she qualified.

I didn't want to talk about Quileutes anymore. I tried to distract her. "Show me some more drawings."

"No way." She flipped the book closed, holding it protectively close. "You've probably already seen them anyway. One night while I fast asleep, no doubt." She scowled. "Good thing I don't keep a diary."

My disappointment must have been evident because she was quick to add,  
"You're going to have to pose for me one day. In our meadow."

I liked that she called it 'ours'—and her assumption that we'd be going back there again.

"But . . ."

"What?"

There was a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'm not sure how much glitter paint I'd need," she murmured, brushing my cheekbone. "To get the right effect. You, with golden eyes, and your sparkles . . ."

"And your sticking-up hair." Her grin was the last thing I saw before my eyes rolled shut, before I was overcome by the sensation of her fingers raking through the hair at my temple . . . threading through the strands, again and again.

I opened my eyes, surprised as always to find she'd come so close. She wore that same smile of wonder she'd given me yesterday. And, like yesterday, she spoke the healing words I'd waited my whole life to hear.

"You _are_ beautiful."

"I love you." I could finally say those words aloud.

I took her hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss the pulse point at the wrist. She was blushing again. I wanted to feel her lips under mine, and there they were—hot and soft and alive. Waiting for me, opening to me. She was my life.

"I remembered to come up from air that time," she pointed out when we broke this kiss. We were lying side by side.

I laughed. "Yes, I noticed that."

"Do you have to go now?" she asked

"It _is_ a school night."

She sighed. "It seems weird that we have to go back to school tomorrow, doesn't it?"

Even to me, Forks High felt like a distant and foreign place—like I'd been a different person when I was there.

"Did you do your homework?"

I grinned. "Not even one lick of it."

"I took notes in Bio. You didn't really miss anything."

"I didn't think so."

"Stay," she begged. "Just till I'm asleep."

How could I leave her now? But I needed to. Listening to her heartbeat like that was dangerously exciting.

"Stay," she repeated.

I rested my thumb at the base of her throat – the suprasternal notch—trailing my fingers along the collarbone. One day, I'd be strong enough to kiss her there, where the pulse was. No other man would ever claim that place as his own.

I knew I couldn't leave.

"Shall I sing to you?" I tucked an arm under her pillow as she curled into me.

"No." She wrapped my other arm over her side at the dip of her waist. I'd seen the smooth skin there, briefly exposed on Saturday. I felt it now as the material of her t-shirt shifted. Fiery silk.

"Just hold me."

Gradually, her racing heartbeat slowed to a slow and steady rhythm. A _lub-dub_ and a pause, syncopated with her breathing. I matched my unnecessary breaths with hers. If I'd had a heart, I would have made it beat for her.

For now, hers beat for the both of us.

* * *

I'd stayed too long. She'd cried out in her dreams, thrashing under the thin blankets, coming undone from them. I thought she was having a nightmare until she turned to press the length of her body against mine and began whispering my name.

My kisses didn't quiet her. Her sighs became moans and I worried her father might awaken. I should have left then—before her blood heat rose, causing a coiling, a quickening in my loins. She moved against that part of me that already ached and strained shamefully. I wanted nothing more than to roll her beneath me. When her lips met mine, they'd parted. I felt the brush of her tongue and I sorely wanted its caress. Were it not for my damned razor sharp teeth!

And that was what I was ashamed of—not that I'd stayed in her bed and taken such liberties with intimacy—but that I couldn't kiss her properly. I could have hurt her. I could have crushed her beneath me—shattered her bones with one thoughtless thrust.

Now I was running so fast, the spray of mist and rain didn't even stick to my skin. Burning through the mud to the spine of the peninsula, I ran to a place of ice and rock and stars and threw myself into the belly of a glacial cirque.

At the bottom of a crevasse, I released my shame and need into an abyss of black-white nothingness. Snow tumbled down, filling my mouth and choking my cries of frustration.

I was a fiend. A lecherous lustful, bloodsucking fiend. She had ravished my heart and taken hold of my soul. It shamed me how much I wanted her.

And I couldn't even kiss her back . . .

A chunk of ice dislodged itself from the mass above and smashed to pieces by my side, rousing me from my stupor. I was cold and wet and dirty. I could not stay here till morning.

A shower... I decided that I needed a _very_ long shower.

There were no humans taking a sunrise hike in the Olympic mountains that morning. But if there had been, no one would have believed their tall story about the way the ground shook and a crack formed in the glacier—and how a young man emerged from the ice, reverse-cannonballing into the sky, to land silently on the lateral moraine and take off at a run so fast it was a blur.

* * *

Five miles from home. It was that dark hour of stillness before the dawn, when the nocturnal creatures had retired and those of the day were not yet awake.

I suddenly became alert to the clamour of hooves and the scent of pursuit on the wind. Fear, adrenaline, animal sweat. A mature stag crashed through the underbrush, veering off at the last second, giving a panicked bleat as it saw me.

Its pursuer appeared, less than a second later, deprived of her prey and irate.

"Oh, it's you." Ethereal as Galadriel and just as deadly, Rosalie hunted alone tonight. "That was _my_ deer you just spooked, thanks very much."

"Sorry," I mumbled. Why was I the one apologizing? I wanted to get away, but my contrition caught her off guard.

"I guess you didn't mean it." She decided after a moment. "I wanted a snack, but the ruckus on the reservation has scared all the game to high ground."

She had no reason to explain herself, but talk of the reservation made me uneasy.

"What's going on?"

"The natives are restless." Her grin turned into a smirk, and she waved a dismissive hand. "Who knows? Potlatch or something. Cars have been driving up and down the La Push road all night."

Sound travels quickly in the mountains, and now that she'd drawn my attention to it, I could hear the noise of traffic coming from the reservation.

She raised her eyebrows. "Maybe they're going to war with the Makahs." That was unlikely, given the close relationship between the tribes. She enjoyed controversy however, so I let her continue.

"Carlisle doesn't think we should be concerned, but I don't appreciate the inconvenience. I didn't want to come this far . . . What are you doing out this way?"

"Going home," I hedged.

She frowned, disbelieving, and flicked away a clump of snow that had dislodged itself from beneath the collar of my jacket. "The older you get the more eccentric you become. You're a mess."

She might laugh, but she was more right about that than she knew.

"Alice will have your hide," she predicted, fingering the nap of the damp fabric. I had ruined a good suede jacket.

"And you smell like . . . " She arched an eyebrow. "Never mind."

I pulled away from her, irritated. "Where's your better half?" I growled.

"Oh, we're not always joined at the hip."

He waited for her at home. She imagined the warm welcome he'd give her, and she made me see it. I did not need to be subjected to this right now. I turned on my heel, ready to leave her in the dust but-

"Edward, wait."

She did not wear that look of contrition well. It must have been painful for her. Had I been a lesser man I would have gloated.

I folded my arms over my chest.

She took a breath—sighed it out. "What happened in Port Angeles . . . If I had known, I'd never have said those things to you afterwards."

She gave a false little laugh. "Your restraint is nearly as good as mine these days. If I'd been you, I would have killed those men."

"Then you know how much I wanted to."

"No one deserves to meet an end like that . . . " Her shoulders shook at the old memory. Old, but always fresh and raw for her. "You're very brave."

How I wished I had some sort of recording device on my person. For she had more to say. She'd obviously been rehearsing this—whatever it was—for some time.

"There's no reason to doubt that the girl's proved herself trustworthy so far. The family has decided to respect your wishes as far as she's concerned, and I'll abide by that. I can't support it, but I'll stand by their decision."

"It doesn't mean that I have to like her." she was quick to add.

"And I really don't care if you don't." I'd recovered enough to find my voice and the sound of it was ugly.

"She's not good enough for you," she snapped.

"Because she's human."

"No." She spoke through gritted teeth, and the whisper of her thought was already in the air. _No__ one__'__s__ good __enough __for__ you_.

"Because _you_ weren't good enough, or so you thought. And so you've decided that no one else ever could be?"

She shook her head sadly. "You hear the thoughts of others, but do you every really listen? I don't think you do. Because if that's what you believe, brother, then you do not know me at all."

_She __respects __you__ more __than __anyone,__ maybe__ as__ much__ as__ Carlisle__.__.__._I hadn't taken Emmett's words seriously before, but I should have. Rosalie would never say them aloud.

"But I know you, and I see how she's changed you. You're almost tolerable these days – when you're not off doing a Byron or composing drippy love ballads." She snickered. "Be realistic though: how long do you think she'll let you play with her? A year? Maybe two? Hm? Unless you turn her, you'll never be able to-"

"Don't you say that, Rosalie!"

"She'll want what you can't give her, and it will tear you apart."

"And why do you care about that?"

_You __won__'__t__ make__ me__ say__ it,__so__ get__ out __of __my__ head!_ She chose a different tactic."If something happens to her or someone finds out what she knows . . . "

"Nothing's going to happen to her. I won't allow it."

"How gallant. But not even you can be everywhere at once. Unless you turn her, she'll always be a liability."

She could see I was becoming angry, so she backed off a pace and sat on a downed log

_Carlisle__ would __do __it__ if __you__ asked__ him__ to._She wouldn't look at me._He __loves __you __most __of__ all._

I'd never ask that of him and she knew it. I was tired of hearing this argument. "It's not the same as it was for you, and Emmett. I will not end her life before it begins. "

"Her life's already over. Alice has seen it."

"I won't believe that."

She shrugged "Believe what you want. You can't control what's going to happen."

"I've no right to doom her." If only there was some way I could change myself for her. I'd do it in a heartbeat.

"No, you don't." Rosalie shook her head sadly. "But she'll doom herself if it means she can be with you forever."

She elbowed me weakly in the side. "I hate all this bickering. Can't we go back to the way we used to be? Just two foolish kids, madly in hate-without a care in the world?"

I was too troubled to answer her.

"We've got school in an hour." Her voice became hard. "Let's get a move on."

As we ran back home, we came close to the boundary of the reservation. Voices carried from La Push, caught by the wind. Mournful voices, singing to an age-old drumbeat. Chanting a warning...

* * *

**So, were you surprised by what Rosalie had to say? Frankly, I didn't expect her to hijack the chapter like that, but I'm very glad she did. I suspected that there was more to her character than selfishness and vanity. Why do you think she finds it so hard to let her brother know how much she cares?**

**On another note: by now, I'm sure that most of you have seen Breaking Dawn Part 1. I haven't seen it yet, but I'm curious about what you thought of it. I confess that it was really hard for me to finish that book. Will the cinematic version make me 'a believer'? My enquiring mind wants to know!**

**Thanks again, for taking the time to read this. Your thoughts and comments mean more than you know.**

**Until next time...**


	26. Homework

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters, but I like to pretend that Edward is mine.**

* * *

Gentle readers, I apologize for leaving you hanging for so long. I wouldn't blame you one bit for flouncing. It feels like I've been chopping and changing this chapter forever. Even after Lezlee's careful beta, it just didn't feel right. (I'll admit that I'm also nervous about a decidedly non-canon admission that Bella makes at the end of it).

But, you know those really intense conversations you have when you first fall in love with someone? Well, Edward and Bella have had a lot of those lately. I wasn't planning to write much about their first day back at school after the Meadow weekend, but they were quite insistent that I did. I'm learning to listen to the characters . . .

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

1234 – Feist  
Addicted – Neil Finn  
Bad - U2

* * *

_**To recap the last chapter (because I've forgotten as well):** Edward kept Bella up 'til all hours on Sunday night, talking. They got a bit hot and bothered so he had to jump into the snow and cool off. He bumped into Rosalie on the way home and the two of them arrived at an unexpected truce._

_We rejoin our two lovebirds on Monday afternoon…_

* * *

**HOMEWORK**

"Was it very bad?" I asked.

"You tell me." Bella was waiting in the hallway outside the changing rooms and she was fuming. "I'm sure you heard everything."

_Guilty, as charged . . . _The poor girl had been dreading Jessica's inquisition all day. She could have skipped class with me, but her sense of honour wouldn't allow it. Or maybe she harboured a masochistic side too? Whatever the case, we were back in the real world now, and she was determined to fight her own battles.

"She's a voracious creature, isn't she?" I took her backpack and shouldered it, trying to be the sympathetic boyfriend. "I'm sorry about that."

And maybe I succeeded; she managed a wan smile. "It's not your fault. She's a never-giving-up-gossip machine."

I'd never heard a truer description of the girl, but I kept a solemn countenance. My inappropriate responses had got me in trouble in the past, and I didn't want her to think I was laughing at her.

I'd been unable to protect her from Jessica, but I could at least deter the unwanted attention her agitation was attracting now. One swift, cold glare was enough to send the heads of curious onlookers turning the other away.

"Do you need anything from your locker?"

"No." She slipped her hand into mine. "Let's just get out of here."

And she could certainly move quickly when she wanted to. She took the stairs into the students' parking lot two at a time.

"Details, Bella. I need details," she was muttering. She stomp-sloshed a little ahead of me, then abruptly spun around, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Ugh, the whole school probably knows that we kissed already. I wouldn't be surprised if my dad's even found out."

Behind us, a noisy group of students descended into the parking lot. Jessica was among them, carrying on simultaneous conversations with both Lauren and Mike. I was amused by the tight grip she kept on his hand—as if she expected him to break free at any moment. Bella's budding romance was the _last_ topic on her mind at that particular moment.

I was about to tell Bella so but, turning back, saw that she'd nearly made it to the Volvo already. I caught up with her in a few quick strides.

"I don't think gossip travels that fast. Even in Forks."

Besides, her father already knew something was going on between us. He hadn't exactly been wearing blinkers when he'd found us talking on their front porch yesterday.

I held the passenger side door open. "If it helps, I think you handled her admirably."

Evidently, it did not. The sound she made as she dropped into the seat came like a little growl, and she was pensive as I drove her home. I reflected, not for the first time, that it would be much easier to handle her distress if I knew what she was thinking . . .

I'd been acutely aware of other people's thoughts today, of course. More so than usual. I wasn't surprised to feel envy from the other students when they noted the new closeness between me and Bella. And I'd long ago become used to snide interior monologues about the way arrogant Edward Cullen used his looks and his money to get whatever he wanted—how all the Cullens did. But I disliked it when that envy was misdirected.

_Guess us small-town kids aren't good enough for Miss Arizona. Who does she think she is . . . ? _

_What could he possibly see in _her_?_

I felt especially protective of her that morning. I should have probably been more discreet about it, but I rather enjoyed they way people scuttled out of our way as I walked her to class.

Sharp-eyed Jessica did not fail to notice we were holding hands, of course; luckily, there was a pop-quiz in Trigonometry, which prevented them from speaking for any length of time.. She just rolled her eyes when she saw me waiting outside the door at the lunch break.

I was happy to have Bella to myself for the next two hours, and she was excited to tell me about the conversation she'd had with Angela in English. I already knew the good news of course, but I didn't mind hearing it again. Angela and Ben were now a couple. He'd summoned the courage to ask her to dance while Eric went for refreshments.

Right there and then, she decided she didn't care whether or not her friends thought he was right for her. The next afternoon, they went to a matinee in Port Angeles, and today, there was a distinct glow about them. I knew they were holding hands under the table.

Keeping an ear on Bella's chatter, I heaped spaghetti onto my plate. I handed her the ladle too, but she put out a restraining hand.

"No, thanks."

"But you like pasta." The tiny cup of soup and wilted salad on her tray were hardly nutritious. She needed her strength for Gym. "You should have some."

Her jaw set determinedly. "You are _not_ paying for my lunch again."

Of course I would pay for her lunch. I didn't understand what the problem was with that. "Really, I'd like to," I told her, but she wouldn't allow it. I considered stealing her wallet later on and slipping a few bills inside but. . .

_I wouldn't._ Alice frowned disapprovingly and looked away in the blink of an eye.

"Where do you want to sit?" Bella peered around, looking for empty seats.

It wasn't raining, but the cafeteria was unusually crowded. The School Board had taken the police warning about a predatory animal lurking in the forest very seriously, and there'd been an announcement made in assembly that students were forbidden to leave the grounds during school hours until it had been caught.

There were some vacant chairs at her friends' table; Angela smiled warmly at us but the others just looked nervous.

"Hhmm . . . I don't think your friends really want us there."

"And I don't think your family does, either," she whispered.

That wasn't entirely true; Alice gave a little wave and Jasper nodded politely, but I knew how intimidating my other siblings were. And I was reluctant to push things with Rosalie, despite the uneasy truce we'd come reached.

_Sweet Isabella can come sit with us, Ned. We promise we won't bite . . ._ Emmett waggled his eyebrows. _Hard_.

Rosalie caught the withering glare I shot him and more or less deduced what he was thinking. He just laughed when she elbowed him in the ribs.

"A table for two, then?" I turned to Bella. "Our usual?"

The trio of sophomore boys at the other end of the table quickly vacated their seats as we approached. Bella gaped, glancing back and forth between the three departing backs and myself.

"What did you do?"

"Sorry?" I pulled a chair out for her.

"You scared them!"

"They were clearly finished eating." I indicated the trays of food they'd left behind. Taking own my seat, I offered, "It's good about Angela and Ben, isn't it?"

"They make a nice pair," she murmured, peering across the room, but she knew she was being distracted. Dissatisfied, she turned over a salad green with her fork, looking as if she expected to find something dangerous underneath it.

"Thank you for protecting me this morning, by the way." She lifted a few leaves to her mouth and chewing them experimentally.

"It's the least I could do."

She swallowed rather loudly, fixing her gaze on her friends' table—on Jessica, in particular. "It's going to be really bad, isn't it?"

I looked too, briefly. "Is there anything you'd like to know?"

"No, I have a pretty good idea what I'll be in for. She called last night while Billy and Jake were over, so I couldn't talk for long—thank goodness. She'll pick up right where she left off."

She looked so very pitiful; I wished there was something I could do to help.

"How's your salad?" I asked sympathetically.

"I can't eat it," she complained, but she nodded at my plate, the corner of her lip twitching a little. "How's your pasta?"

"Here: why don't you have it?"

She just waved it away. "I really couldn't eat a bite."

I poked at the gluey mass on my plate, deliberating. "You could always skip class, you know," I finally murmured.

"I couldn't do _that_."

"Sure, you could. Look." I reached into my pocket for the pad of Carlisle's stationery I always kept with me.

"You'd forge a doctor's note? For me?"

"For you," I told her, "anything."

"Wow, I'm so lucky," she chuckled. Just as quickly, she was serious once more. "I appreciate your offer, but it'll only delay the inevitable. I-I have to face her sometime."

"It'll be all right. Really," she insisted, shushing my protests.

She was so brave; I took her hand in mine. "Then I'll stay with you as long as I can."

"I appreciate that." She placed her other hand over top.

I would have been content just to hold hands like that until it was time for class, but our amorous glances caught the attention of my family members. One of my brothers started wolf-whistling and making kissing noises in his head, and Rosalie wished she still had the ability to throw up.

We both looked down at the food on our plates—food that would remain uneaten.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I asked.

"Absolutely."

I stood and stacked her tray on top of mine. "We could go to the library. I still have those Biology exercises to finish. You took notes for me on Friday, didn't you?"

Friday seemed so long ago now. She must have thought so too. "Oh, right. Yes, I did."

I winked. "Jessica never goes to the library."

She grinned. "The library, it is."

* * *

From the window of my History classroom, I could watch students performing calisthenics on the sodden soccer field. Coach Clapp was annoyed that his plans to take them trail running had been scuppered; he thought the school was taking its safety precautions too far. I agreed that they were unnecessary at the moment. The only predator in the vicinity was Jessica Stanley, and she was already circling her prey.

"You should have been there, Bella. Oh, my God."

From the low point of the dance, when her corsage came unpinned and got trampled underfoot, to the exultant apex of her slow dance with Mike, she omitted no detail from her breathless was still ecstatic about it. She'd been parading Mike around like a poodle in a purse ever since.

My attention wavered while she was telling Bella exactly how low down her back Mike's hands travelled while they were dancing. I was actually thinking about something else—something which, thankfully, never got the chance to happen that night.

Jasper had run himself ragged that day, keeping everyone calm at home while Bella and I were alone in the forest. Subjecting him to hair-trigger emotions and hot, close scents at the dance could have been disastrous, and Alice had the good sense to realize that. It was only a reprieve however. As she took great pleasure in warning him, Prom was only a couple of months away. I did not envy my brother. I resolved to warn him ahead of time whenever she had a dance practice planned.

"So, what did _you_ get up to on the weekend?" Jessica had pounced. My attention returned to the killing field.

"Oh, nothing much. I just hung around outside and enjoyed the sun."

Of course her attempt at evasive action only whet Jessica's appetite. "Uh-huh . . . You and Edward Cullen are obviously an item now. You didn't tell me _anything_ last night."

"We had guests," she reminded her. "And my dad was right there."

"Well, he's not here, now." She grinned wolfishly. "Details, Bella. Enquiring minds want to know."

"I guess we spent most of the weekend together," she mumbled, blushing. Was she thinking of the sweetness of Saturday afternoon—of our first kiss? I cursed my perfect recall that wouldn't let me forget how close I came to killing her.

"You guys should have come to the dance."

"Edward knows I don't dance." Bella folded her arms protectively, promptly falling out of step with the jumping jacks.

"So, what did you do, then?"

"We went hiking on Saturday. On Sunday, I met his family."

"Like, at his house?" Jessica's imagination began to race wildly.

_Of course, 'at my house'—where else would she have met them? _

"_Nobody's_ been to the Cullen house." She spoke as if the place was haunted—and I supposed it was, in a sense. Vampires are living ghosts. "What's it like?"

"Spacious. Very, um, tasteful." I smiled at Bella's expression. "Yes, uh, elegant."

Interior decoration did not seem to interest Jessica. She blinked a few time times. "It's got to be huge. Doctor and Mrs. Cullen get money from the government for fostering all those kids – the ones that are under eighteen, anyway." She babbled on. "Do you think Mrs. Cullen has maids? I mean, how would she keep a place like that clean?"

"I think she manages pretty well." I wondered what Bella was thinking.

"How many bathrooms do they have?"

"Er, five." It came out sounding like a question.

"How many _bed_rooms?"

"I didn't count." She was starting to wonder where this line of questioning was going, I could tell. I already knew, and it was making me angry. I wished I could just run out into the rain, scoop her up, and carry her away.

Jessica grinned wickedly. "Never mind. There's just always been this rumour about the Cullens. I wondering if it's true, is all . . . " She trailed off suggestively.

"What rumour?" Bella had fallen right into her trap.

_Oh, like you haven't heard it_. She paused dramatically, looking around to see if anyone else was listening; she hoped someone was.

"Well, that they all sleep together," she sniggered.

"_What?"_

"Ha, ha—just kidding." But she wasn't, really. "Did he show you his room?" Bella didn't even get a chance to answer. "Did he kiss you?" She gasped. "He _did!_ I can tell by the way you're blushing!"

She continued her interrogation, between reps and sets and sprints, for the rest of the hour. I had to stop listening again. There were some lines of intimacy that even I would not cross. Still, the capacity some people had for gossip . . . It was a human trait that never ceased to amaze me.

My poor Bella emerged from the changing rooms, battered and blushing, but she weathered the storm with her dignity intact. And Jessica came away with just enough information to refute Lauren's claims that I was gay.

* * *

I parked on the grass verge before her driveway, feeling a little anxious. She still hadn't uttered a word.

"Better?" I asked.

She let out a huge sigh. "I am now." But she rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand as if it pained her. "Ugh, you were right: I should have just skipped class."

"She would have hunted you down, anyway. She doesn't stop, that one."

She nodded. "She's scarier than a house full of hungry vampires."

I accompanied her to the doorstep and she let me kiss her for a little while. Neither of us was in any hurry to say goodbye.

"Do you want to come in for a while?"

"I'd like that."

She beamed. "We could do homework together."

We left our wet shoes on the porch and went inside. She glanced uncertainly upstairs first, then flicked on the living room light, indicating we should go in there.

"I usually work in my room but there's more space down here. We probably won't need the computer. It's a dinosaur, anyway."

She was right. We couldn't both work at her little desk upstairs. We'd end up on the bed, and then we'd get no work done at all.

The springs of the old couch creaked ominously as we sat down, but she didn't seem to notice. She dropped her backpack onto the coffee table and began pulling out the books she needed.

"So, I've got Spanish verb conjugations, and the rest of those Bio exercises I didn't finish in class. Did you get those done-?"—she broke off, rolling her eyes—"oh, never mind."

"What?" She glanced at me bashfully, then looked away.

I hadn't meant to make her self-conscious. I was admiring the way her curls fell softly about her neck—and how they shone in the lamplight. So much for the safety of the living room. She was deliciously tempting in any setting.

"Anything else?" I asked, watching the colour spread across her cheeks. I could never get enough of that.

She looked up at me from beneath her lashes. "Um, I should probably get started on my History paper."

"I've got a paper to write in that class, too."

And just like that we were both lost, just gazing at one another. I wondered if she'd let me kiss her again. I wanted to: I was going to, but the noise of a car passing in the street broke the spell.

"I think I'll make some hot chocolate first," she announced, abruptly jumping to her feet. What was she so nervous about?

She took a step towards the kitchen, only to look back apologetically. "It feels so rude, not offering you anything."

"I'm fine. Go fix your drink."

I drifted to the photos on the mantelpiece while she was busy. They fascinated me—that neat little chronology of her life with her father. I picked up the one of her as a newborn, cradled between her parents. Their smiles did not reach their eyes. I saw fear in them. Was it because they were new parents? Or had they already realized they were incompatible?

I guessed that her mother mustn't have been much older than she was now when she'd given birth. Bella was right: they really did look alike, especially when they smiled. Her father had that same little crease between his brows when he frowned.

I wondered why her parents couldn't have stayed together to raise their daughter . . .

My phone vibrated in my pocket just then. I should have let it be, but I thought it might be Alice calling. Perhaps she'd seen something. Perhaps this wasn't the night to declare my intentions to Bella's father after all.

It wasn't Alice. I scowled at the call display and rapidly switched modes so I could text the words '_bad timing!'_ and turn it off. I could imagine the very pointed barb about rudeness the caller was going to leave on my voice mail—in her honey-laden voice with just the trace of a Slavic accent. I knew I wouldn't be able to avoid Tanya for very much longer.

"Is everything okay?" Bella's approach had been very quiet and she was watching my expression carefully.

"Just fine," I lied. "Actually, it occurred to me that I haven't given you my phone number." I hastily scribbled it on a piece of notepaper and handed it to her. "You might need it sometime."

"But I can talk to you whenever I want." She knew I was keeping something from her. She followed me back to the sofa, drawing her feet up as she sat, and curling them beneath her.

"I won't be able to come to your room _every _night. I need to hunt sometimes. And _you_—"I grazed her chin with my thumb—"need to sleep."

She didn't like that, but she was nothing if not practical. She folded the piece of paper into her jeans pocket, and glanced unenthusiastically at her History books.

"I guess you're right."

"Have you decided what you're going to write about?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Oh, uh, the three 'R's of Roosevelt's New Deal, I think. What about you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I'll probably just put together something at the last minute."

She smirked. "I'll bet you've got a stash of essays you can re-use anytime you want, right? Must be nice."

"A stash?" I laughed, tapping a finger to my forehead. "Well, I suppose you could call it that."

"You've _memorized _them?"

Every paper, every dissertation—I remembered every word I'd written since the day I was changed. "I told you: we never forget anything."

"Wow. I still can't get my head around that." Then something obviously struck her funny. "It must be really annoy youwhen Mrs. Goff gets her facts wrong."

I tried to be diplomatic. "Well, she's a grade school teacher, not a historian. She relies on the texts as much as you do." Even to my ears, that sounded condescending.

"You mean, she relies on the _answer key_," Bella snickered.

My lips twitched. "That's unkind."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

I tweaked one of her curls. "Homework, Bella." I said sternly, but it was hard to keep my face straight.

She stuck out her tongue, but pulled her books onto her lap and got down to work. I was content just to be there with her and watch the expressions flit across her face. In my own way, I was studying too.

"Um, it's kind of hard to concentrate when you keep staring at me like that."

"Oh. Sorry." I opened a book and pretended to read, stealing surreptitious glances at her whenever I could.

Time passed pleasantly for me, but she was learning about the dustbowls of the Great Depression. The more she read, the more pronounced the little crease between her brows grew. She showed me a photograph of family of migrant workers—Okies on their way to California.

"It's hard to believe something like that could happen in America. Those people lost everything." She couldn't fathom it. "Did you see a lot of that? I mean . . . you were there."

It was a period of my life that I tried not to revisit, and I didn't want to now—not with her. I eyed her cautiously. "Not really. I lived . . . further north. Millions were destitute everywhere, though. It was a terrible time."

She was obviously doing some mental arithmetic; I could imagine the ideas turning over in her mind even if I couldn't hear them.

"That was when you were on your own."

I felt myself drawing away from her, cringing at the memories of the terrible things I'd done—the creature I'd turned into—back then. It was all as clear in my mind as if it had just happened. It always would be.

"What was it that made you leave?"

_I was young. Arrogant. I thought I had all the answers_ . . .

She'd been so brave until now, accepting the bizarre secrets of my life so calmly. I'd never wanted to tell her about this. How could still she love me afterwards? As always, something about her demanded my honesty. Somehow, I knew her perverse way of looking at the world meant she'd understand.

"I made a mistake. The very worst one of my life." I wrapped my arms around my knees, hugging them to my chest.

"Carlisle loved me without question. He was always so proud of me. He never knew"—how could I tell him?—"that I was bad inside."

She started to protest, but I just shook my head. "I _was_ bad. I was. _He_ never thought about . . . killing. He only wanted to help. Not like me."

"Were you afraid he'd be disappointed in you?"

"I was afraid of his pity." I could have lived with his disappointment—his anger, even. "He was able to repress that part of his nature, right from the beginning, and I _knew_ that. I knew he didn't fight it every single day, the way I did. I began to resent him for it."

I'd been too proud to ask for his guidance. And looking back, how could he have helped me? He'd never been responsible for another vampire's training before. And not just one other vampire. Soon, we had Esme to consider, and I had to set a good example.

"He never forced his lifestyle on me. But I couldn't stick to it, either. The . . . cravings just kept getting worse." It was only a matter of time before something happened. "We had a terrible argument one day, and I said some unforgivable things. Then I walked out."

A highly abridged version of the story, to be sure. Carlisle and I both bore scars from that fight.

"It felt so good at first. I was so strong, so alive. My senses were more acute then they'd ever been. I lived on instinct. After the first ones"—I glanced hesitantly at her—"it was easy to continue. I convinced myself I could pursue my natural prey and still remain civilized. Maybe even do some good in the world . . . " My forehead dropped onto my knees. I'd been so wrong.

I heard her breath hitch. "I'm sorry."

She pitied me—a cold-blooded killer. I looked up again as bitter laughter rose on my tongue, only to swallow it back. Her lip was trembling.

"Y-you only killed bad people though, right?"

They were bad, all right. I preyed on rapists, sadists—the lowest of the low. I was a bottom-feeder.

"Not innocents. Women . . . children?"

I took a deep breath. "I killed one woman. And she was no innocent. She was an accomplice to many murders."

I couldn't look at her face any longer. I stared down at her hands—clasped together so tightly that the knuckles turned white.

But that's how I'd justified my crimes. I'd been serving justice when the authorities could not—or would not. But when I took what I wanted, I left victims without retribution. And if I arrived too late, I deprived their families of resolution.

Because all that mattered was the blood. I just wanted more and more. In the end, I was no better than the monsters I hunted.

"Didn't Carlisle try to find you—bring you back?"

He'd searched for me—grieved for me. Blamed himself for not helping me sooner. But how could he have known? Yes, I lived with his guilt, too.

"I didn't want to be found."

I could tell my curt responses were causing Bella grief too, and I never wanted to do that. I dared to look at her once more.

"I didn't think I ever could go home. But a mutual friend of Carlisle's and mine tracked me down. And convinced me otherwise."

Eleazar could track vampires with special talents, and he took up the chase when my family had given up hope. He'd done it for his old friend Carlisle; he barely knew me back then. I remained forever in his debt.i

"Carlisle and Esme welcomed me back, like I told you before—never once asking where I'd been, or what I'd done. Carlisle knows . . . what I've been able tell him." I shook my head. "I don't deserve their forgiveness.

"They helped me pick up the pieces. I could never atone for my crimes, but I did what I could to live a good life. I'd come to a measure of piece with myself."

The clock on the mantelpiece marked the ensuing silence.

"Until you met me," she finally whispered, colour draining from her face. "And you wanted to kill me."

I'd never wanted a human's blood so much in my life.

How I'd hated her for it! If she hadn't understood that before, she did now. Oh, yes: I could see it in her eyes, and I knew we'd come to another precipice. Would she cast me out?

A sharp ache racked the hole in my chest where my heart once beat.

She just took my hand and squeezed it. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"But I'm still here."

_Yet here you sit . . . _Those had been my words.

I looked down at our hands, not daring to believe. She just squeezed all the more tightly.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Her voice was like a breath of wind.

"I'm a thief." She turned to me, fearfully. "That's really bad, right? My dad's a policeman and I'm a thief . . . But, it's true."

I had no idea what to say. I waited.

"There was this store in a strip mall near my middle school, back in Phoenix. A Dollar Tree, or something. They put these baskets outside—you know, to make people go in and browse? Household stuff. Sunglasses, comic books. Sometimes, there were baskets of t-shirts. Three for five bucks—really cheap ones, with like, iron-on transfers. Well, one day, I took one. I don't know why; I didn't even want it. Not really. And I couldn't believe I got away with it."

I remembered that same rush of panic and elation the first time I killed.

"I got half-way home and decided to turn around and put it back. But I was afraid of getting caught. I didn't know what to do: it wasn't like I could ever wear it. What if my mom saw it? I ended up taking it home and hiding it in the back of my closet. Out of sight, out mind, right?

"Only it became my Telltale Heart (ii). I came home from school the next day, and it was there—even though I couldn't see it—reminding me what I'd done. And the day after—and the day after that.

"I had these dreams that I tried to take it back but got arrested for shoplifting anyway. I got put on trial and my dad was in the jury. He never said a word: he was just sad he hadn't been able to teach me right from wrong. He voted with the rest of them to put me in jail.

"After about a week, I couldn't take the guilt any more. I threw the t-shirt in a Goodwill bin. I tried not to think about it ever again."

"I've never told this to anyone before," she said, after a silence. "I was eleven."

I stared at the faded fabric of the couch. A long time ago, it might have been moss green. Or brown. It was neither now.

"What colour was the t-shirt?" I finally asked.

"Baby pink!" She burst out laughing. "I don't even like pink."

She took a deep breath, and sighed it out. "I was a stupid little kid. But I knew what I was doing; I knew right from wrong. I still regret what I did."

And she shuffled closer on her knees—I was still hunched in the corner of the couch—resting them against my foot.

"And you do, too. Because you're not that person anymore."

I could never be certain of that, but she was. She took both my hands in hers, bringing them to her lips so she could kiss them.

"I wouldn't be here right now if you were. You didn't kill me that day. You couldn't. You saved me."

"Edward, look at me," she demanded, but I afraid to. "How many times have you saved me?"

She took my face in her hands. "You _are _good." And she kissed me, pulling me closer so she could kiss my eyelids, my cheeks and lips, over and over, until maybe, somewhere in my soul, she made me believe her.

"You are good. You _are_," she whispered. "You saved me."

She was wrong. It was she who'd saved me.

She cradled my head against her chest and I listened to her heart beating fiercely, strongly. She rocked us both—comforted us both. She was my life.

I smelled the tears before the first drop fell; I looked up wanting to trace its track down her cheek, but she wiped it away impatiently.

"Even when I try to help, all I do is hurt you."

She tried to disengage herself—to give me some room—but that's not the reason I was shivering. I was very grateful at that moment that she didn't know what it was like to see a vampire weep.

"Stay." I sat up, pressing my forehead against hers. "Please, love."

And I took her chin between my fingers, tipping her face so I could kiss the place where we'd just touched. Her tears fell afresh and she didn't try to stop them. She cradled my cold cheek in her hand.

"Always," she vowed.

And she stayed very still, as she knew she should, and soon the world was warmth and forgiveness and the sweet living flesh of her lips. And it was so very, very good.

And then she was moving. Her mouth against mine, imploring, demanding. Her hands in my hair, sliding down my neck, my shoulders, until she wrapped her arms around my cold body and pulled it down on hers.

_And you wait and it makes you feel strange_  
_As if you were deranged_  
_With a look to the side_  
_And you say I was addicted to the drug_  
_But now I know when I've had enough_  
_So far, we've come so far_  
_Come so far_  
_So far ~ Addicted_

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**A/N:**  
i I've made no secret of how much Belladonnacullen's story "The Newborn" has enriched my personal Twilight canon. You'd be hard-pressed to read a more heart-breaking version of Edward's 1931 homecoming than chapter 10 of this story. And it's told through Eleazar's POV. The story is still on hiatus, but I live in hope that she'll finish it one day. fanfiction s / 5367016 / 1 / The _ Newborn

ii You can read Edgar Allen Poe's short story, "The Tell-Tale Heart" here, if you're not familiar with it: eapoe works / tales / thearta . htm

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**Thank you for reading. XOXOXO**


	27. Tug & Pull

S**tephenie Meyer owns these characters, but I like to pretend that Edward is mine.**

**Thanks to Malianani for pre-reading, and to ChloeCougar for her beta. Oh, I'd better thank Michael Ondaatje, too. It's about time, after all.**

**I dedicate this chapter to my prodigal muse. She went on holiday sometime in February, and I don't know where she got to. She certainly has a lot to answer for, leaving me all alone like that.**

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**Playlist Pick:**  
Neurotic World – Liam Finn

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**TUG & PULL**

_To recap:_

_Her tears fell afresh and she didn't try to stop them. She cradled my cold cheek in her hand; her sweet breath soothed my brow._

"_Always," she vowed._

_And she stayed very still, as she knew she should, and soon the world was warmth and forgiveness and the sweet living flesh of her lips. And it was so very, very good . . ._

When her tears were spent, we held one another and talked—about our hopes, our dreams—about everything and nothing at all. And as light leached from the day, we drifted into silence on her father's couch. It was enough just to be. To feel her live heart beating beside my dead one.

_This_ was what love was. At last, I understood.

She'd wept for the boy who died in 1918 like she wept for the monster who lived to devour her. She told me I was her saviour. She was so very wrong about that.

It felt like some bizarre and beautiful dream. Why did I deserve such a gift?

In truth, I did not.

I'd plucked forbidden fruit. I'd be punished for it—that much was certain—but my fate had been sealed long ago. So I vowed to live this beautiful dream while it lasted. As long as she was safe—as long as it was the best thing for her—then I'd be a part of her life. I'd already become a better person, just by knowing her.

And while we were together, I wanted to be worthy of her. Her father was coming home soon and there was something important I needed to do. I waited for him in that tiny living room as she prepared their evening meal. I was surprised by how nervous I was.

Chief Swan had worked a very long day and he was preoccupied when he got home. This was nothing unusual. He seemed to spend a great deal of time mired in thought, and I never could hear much of it. It was like trying to listen to a conversation being held behind closed doors. Of all the frustrating human traits he could share with his daughter . . .

What I was able to make out was extremely disjointed. A major crime had occurred on the weekend and the investigation was depressing him. Then he was thinking about Bella. He felt guilty for leaving her alone so much but his work was important—and that brought his thoughts back to the investigation and to Carlisle, who'd provided invaluable assistance. And then for some reason he was thinking about our family . . . Without full context, I couldn't connect the dots.

He'd noticed the unfamiliar car parked at the curb and the pair of men's shoes sitting on the porch—evidence confirming what he'd already suspected. He'd figured out something was going on between Bella and me. He'd expected she'd tell him about it herself when she was ready.

He did not expect me to stand up straight, look him right in the eye, and ask permission to date his daughter.

His muffled thoughts were suddenly live and loud and coming at me every which way at once. I felt his regret for all the years he'd missed as a father and his pride about the young woman blossoming before his eyes. He was afraid of her too—of all the mysteries of her gender. But there was another feeling bubbling just beneath the surface I almost couldn't put my finger on. Was it . . . disappointment?

Not quite. But in a strange way he felt jilted. He'd hoped Mike Newton would be the one who'd come calling. He'd known his family since they'd moved to Forks and couldn't think of a better choice for Bella. He was probably right. Mike was dimpled and trouble-free. He had a bright future ahead of him. Why shouldn't she choose him?

No, he wasn't at all sure about me. He admired Carlisle and Esme for adopting five teenagers, but he knew better than most what can happen to children who grow up in foster care. He was worried I'd been somehow _damaged_ by the , he was glad I wasn't Emmett. The irony . . . I posed a far greater threat to his daughter than my gentle giant of a brother ever could.

But he was more perceptive than I'd given him credit for because what I read from him then was empathy. He could tell with absolute certainty that I was in love with his daughter. I don't know how: I'd chosen my words very carefully and I'd been careful not to wear my heart on my sleeve. Or, so I'd thought. But he'd only been a few years older than I was pretending to be when he fell hard and fast for Bella's mother. He remembered what that was like.

"You don't need my permission, Edward. Bella's old enough to decide for herself, and I trust her."

Nevertheless, he appreciated that I'd been man enough to ask. And I realized that I actually cared what this honest human thought of me. I meant it when I promised to take care of his daughter—no matter what.

We shook hands, all three of us. It was a binding agreement as far as he was concerned. He was a man of his word and he expected the same of me. And as long as we abided by his few rules and she was home by her curfew, he did not care to know where we went or what we did.

Bella and I were already inseparable, but our bond truly cemented after that night. She was my best and only friend. I left her side only to hunt, or to return home to shower and change before school. My family never complained about how little they saw of me; they remembered what it was like to be newly mated. They understood.

What they didn't know—what I couldn't tell them—was how I still burned for her. I couldn't bear it when we were apart and I'd never intentionally harm her, but the terrible desire never lessened. There were nights when she'd call out my name in her sleep and I could smell her need rising alongside the blood haze. Those were nights my thirst burned as painfully as my arousal and I just had to jump out her window and run, and just keep going until I'd mowed down anything and everything in my path.

It was a good thing the elk were so prolific.

Bella started spending nearly every weekend at my house. Esme and Carlisle doted on her, and my brothers too became fond of her in their own ways. Everything about her made Emmett laugh. Her awkwardness and bouts of clumsiness delighted him. He took great glee in startling her or putting obstacles in her way that she might trip over. He was like a huge, playful puppy dog around her, though I did occasionally wonder if he was overdoing it just a little. He was conscious of Rosalie's disapproval of Bella, so I think he wanted to make up for it.

She won Jasper over in spite of his natural inclination to protect and defend. Her kindness was truly disarming. Even so, I made sure he was never, ever left alone with her, and he agreed with that. He didn't trust himself, either. He began going on long hunting trips whenever she came over, and Rosalie would often accompany him. At first, it upset Bella to think that she'd driven a wedge into the family, but once Alice explained that it was their choice, she accepted the situation. She was still intimidated by Rosalie and I know she was relieved

Her friendship with Alice was inevitable, I suppose. I was leery about it at first but Alice never once mentioned her visions to her, much as I knew she wanted to. For them, it really was a case of 'opposites attract'. Bella's indifference to haute couture was a source of endless frustration to Alice, but her serenity was a balm to my sister's often frenetic energy. They both shared a love of Victorian poetry, as well as the music of a certain boy-band whose insipid music and banal lyrics drove me up the wall.

Bella also exchanged confidences with Alice that she never shared with me. It was infuriating, but at least once it allowed Alice to step in and stop me from making a mistake that might have damaged my relationship with her.

Such was the case when she appeared in the doorway of my bedroom one afternoon. I'd been going through boxes of my mother's heirloom jewellery, trying to decide on a gift I could give to Bella later that day.

"I know what you're planning, and it's too early."

"Why?" I picked up a necklace, letting the jewels catch the light. It would look lovely set against her rosy skin. "Too gaudy?" I put it back and rummaged around in the safe. "What about this?"

"Pretty. I'd wear it." But that wasn't why she was here. "She has some weird ideas about gifts. I think she's proud, actually. If you give her that, it would only upset her that she didn't have anything to give back to you."

"That's ridiculous. She gives me everything, just by breathing." I wanted her to know how much she meant to me.

"I know that. Just . . . hold off on the heirlooms for now. Trust me."

I put trinket back in the box as Alice showed me Bella's reaction to receiving it. Why would she care about the extravagance? She said that the differences between us did not matter, but obviously they did. I was rich and she was not.

"Don't be sad," she chided. "I didn't say 'for ever'—just 'for now'." She put an arm around my shoulder. "I can help you out, if you'd like. I've got something simpler in mind . . . " And she showed me what she planned to buy for Bella on her next trip to Seattle. It was simple and beautiful—just like her.

"It's perfect," I agreed.

She grinned. "It would be a gift from all of us."

She was right; it would be. And Bella would never have to know how much it cost.

A few days after the man was mauled near the mill, a cougar was trapped on the outskirts of town. The police and the Fish and Wildlife officials seemed satisfied that they'd caught the animal responsible, even though it was old and diseased.

The man's body was taken by canoe to be buried on an island in the strait, as was the custom of his Makah ancestors. He was known to police, having been arrested for narcotics possession in the past. The dangerous animal warning was lifted and life went back to normal in our quiet town.

Winter lost its grip on the Olympic Peninsula. In Forks, the cherry blossoms had come and gone; in the mountains, where spring was more tentative, crocuses and grape hyacinths were newly abloom.

On this balmy afternoon, the fairest flower in my meadow sat, barefoot and cross-legged, with her sketchbook on her lap. I'd brought more than my precious human cargo up here with me today as well. I was playing my guitar for her.

"Pachelbel?" She was trying to guess who'd written the melody.

"No."

"Vivaldi?"

"Not even close."

"I give up. Who is it?"

"Led Zeppelin."

"I've never even heard that song," she said. "I think my dad's got one of their albums, though." She had quite a knack for making me feel old when she wanted to.

"I didn't say 'stop'." She didn't look up from her drawing, either.

"What would you like to hear?"

"Play that one again. It's pretty."She flashed me a quick grin. "And my muse says it pleases him."

"Hm . . . I thought that the nine muses were supposed to be female. Is there a tenth that I'm unaware of?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just play."

I improvised for a while, playing by ear as I watched her work. I loved her intent expression.

"Can I see it?" I finally asked.

"Patience." She warned severely. "That's Simon and Garfunkel. Oh, come on! It is _so_."

We bantered back and forth like this for some time. She refused to show me what she was drawing, though I could make a fair guess. I was becoming a little impatient when she finally announced: "All right, it's done now"—then frowned, adding a few quick strokes—"or, as done as it's ever going to be."

Biting her lower lip and wincing, she handed her drawing to me. "Don't laugh, okay?"

It was me, of course—playing guitar. It lacked expertise, but there was feeling in the drawing that was hard to explain. She had her own technique and it was something that couldn't be taught. And it had feeling – I'd seen other sketches she'd made of me drawn before we were really speaking with one another—and there was an ease in my expression here that hadn't existed before. If I didn't know better, I would have said that the boy in the drawing hadn't a care in the world.

"What are you going to call it?" I asked.

"Um, I don't know. I don't usually name my drawings."

"I think this deserves one."

"Hmm . . . " Then she chuckled. "How about 'Adonis at Play'?"

I snorted. _More like Hades than Adonis_, I thought bitterly. But it was a very good drawing and I told her so.

"You think?" She was relieved. "The way the light plays on your skin, though—I couldn't get that right. Not with pencil. And like I've said, hands are really difficult to draw." She took my hand, bringing it up to her face so she could study it in the sunlight.

"It's perfect," I murmured, suddenly aware of how very close she was—how very perfect _she_ was. "No need for glitter paint after all."

She grinned. "It's yours." She dropped my hand and began tearing the sheet from the pad.

"No, you keep it. Please." I was appalled. I didn't deserve a gift from her.

"But I want you to have it."

"I know what I look like." My joke was shaky; I could see that I'd hurt her feelings.

"But you've given me so much. This is something I can give _you_."

"Keep it in your book 'til we get home then. You don't want it to get damaged." In the meantime, I hoped she'd forget about it. All I ever did was take from her. I was no better than a parasite.

"I guess you're right." She folded the sketchbook closed. Her mouth turned down in disappointment. "We don't have to go yet, do we? What time is it, anyway?"

"Nearly three."

"Already? Time just flies away up here, don't you think?" She stretched back onto the grass with her hands behind her head, shutting her eyes contentedly. "I wish we could stay, forever."

_Forever . . . _ I pulled distractedly at some blades of grass, knowing without looking up that her eyes were open and she was watching me intently.

"What?" She sighed. "I used the 'f' word again, didn't I? I'm sorry."

"It's just . . . _that _word means something different to you than it does to me."

"No, it doesn't." She scowled. "I love you and I know I always will. Why shouldn't I want to be with you forever?"

I couldn't imagine a worse fate for her. Undead. Forever thirsty. "You don't want this. You don't want to be like me."

"I know what I feel."

I shook my head. "You're seventeen."

"_You're_ seventeen. And if Carlisle hadn't changed you, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."

"That's the way things should have been."

"So you regret it?"

"That's not it . . . there's just . . . you don't want this, Bella."

"I want you."

"It hurts," I reminded her fiercely. "A lot. And then you have to watch everyone you ever loved grow old and die."

"I could deal . . . " she whispered, folding her arms defiantly. She was quiet for a few moments. I watched a tear trickle down her cheek. "Is this a stalemate?" she finally asked, brushing it away impatiently.

"I guess so."

She patted the grass at her side. "Come here, then"—and I lay down beside her, propped up on my elbows—"Heh, now, you look like a sphinx."

"What are you thinking?" she asked when I didn't say anything for a while.

I gave her a half-smile and picked some flowers within my reach. "I'm thinking of a story. It's about a lady who lived in a gilded tower. She had work to do and a life to live, but she let herself get distracted when a gallant knight rode into town. She should have been watching what she was doing. Instead, she took her eyes from the prize and unleashed a curse on herself."

Bella smirked and tried to grab some flowers from my hand but I was too quick for her. "There's no lady here. Just plain old me."

I began threading the flowers into her hair. "You're wrong about that. You're far from plain."

"And what about my knight at arms?"

"Alone and palely loitering?" I frowned. "Not so gallant, I think."

"Now _you're_ the one who's wrong," she murmured, brushing the back of a finger across my cheek. She turned her face away and her voice trembled when next she spoke.

"I know that story, too. The lady died, of course."

I swallowed the stab of pain that followed her words. "The knight should have taken the other road to Camelot."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you?" She huffed. "Are you finished, yet?"

"Not quite. _You_ have to be patient now." I tucked the last flower into place. "There. You are beautiful, my lady."

She reached up and touched her crown of flowers. "Oh, I wish I could see!"

I grinned. "I would draw you but I lack the talent. However, I do have . . . " I grabbed my phone and snapped a photograph of her with it. "See? Beautiful."

She blushed, but she was curious too. "Couldn't you really have drawn me?"

"No." Not the way she'd drawn me. It took a soul to be able to do that.

"Oh, well," she said smugly. "You can't be good at everything, I guess. You have to leave some of the talents for us mere mortals."

She was happy she'd made me laugh. She fluttered her eyelashes. "There are lots of things you're good at though, and I'm glad."

"Like what?"

"Like, like kissing." And she let out a throaty chuckle because I'd kissed the top of her ear and she was ticklish there. "Yes, oh! Like that." She arched her neck, inadvertently offering me the vein beneath. I drew back with a start.

"Sorry." Her hand flew to her mouth. We stared at one another for a moment, collecting ourselves. "I shouldn't do that, should I?"

"It's all right." I sucked the venom from my teeth, swallowing hard. "See?" I gave her a reassuring smile.

"Are you sure?"

I smoothed back the warm tresses that fell around her neck, exposing the little hollow between her collarbones. My fingers traced the bone until it stopped at the soft indentation. My favourite place.

"This . . . I love _this_. There has to be a name for it. What do you think it's called?"

She didn't know. Her breath was starting to come in little pants—her sternum rising and falling under my fingertips.

"We should christen it."

The spell was broken; she snickered. "You are so weird. Why would you name a body part?"

_So it's mine. So no one else can ever claim it._

She placed her hand over mine and for a second I thought I'd frightened her and she wanted me to stop. But then she tugged the collar of her shirt a little lower. She wanted me to seal my claim with a kiss.

The staccato of her heartbeat and the beautiful, terrible music of the blood flowing through her veins were in that instant too much. _Please, not now . . _. I focused on the burn; it meant she was still alive. Why didn't this ever get any easier? I raised my lips to kiss hers instead then turned away in case my irises had gone black. I didn't want her to be afraid.

"Not yet?" she whispered.

_Maybe not ever . . ._

"It's okay." She smoothed her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. "It'll be okay."

But I wondered if it ever really would be, as long as she remained human.

"Your father's going to wonder where you are." I reluctantly said to her sometime later.

"He knows I'm safe with you. He trusts you."

Well, he trusted me as much as he would trust any teenage boy around his daughter. But he had relaxed a little around me lately. "You here again, Edward?" he liked to say. "I might have to start charging rent." If he knew exactly how much time I spent with Bella, he might've considered making good on his humorous threat.

"Seriously—he really seems to like you. He told Renée about you." Bella rolled her eyes. "'Course, as soon as he got off the phone with her she just had to speak to me and she's all like, 'I'm so happy you've got a boyfriend. I bet he's smart—is he smart? Are you being safe?' Ugh!"

"You don't like your mother very much, do you?"

"I love my mother." I'd perplexed her. But I could tell she didn't have a lot of respect for her mother.

"Do you wish she never remarried?"

She had to think about that.

"No," she said finally. "If she hadn't, then I never would have come back here. And I never would have met you."

And her life wouldn't have been in danger many times over, I thought ruefully.

"Charlie's been talking about having you over for dinner some time. I kn_ow_," she continued, her wide eyes mischievous. "Don't worry: I told him you were a vegan. That seems to have scared him."

"I could make myself eat human food." I'd done it before. I'd do it again, for her. "But if your father wants me to eat steak, tell him I like mine raw—and wriggling!" I poked her in a ticklish spot to make her wriggle.

"Yeah, I can totally picture _that_," she declared with a snort, then confided in a whisper that, "I don't think my dad knows what a vegan actually is."

"All the better, then." I winked.

And then we lay on our backs, watching the clouds and describing the shapes we saw in them for one another. A cloud passed over the sun—another quickly followed it. The wind was picking up.

"I'm going to miss a lot of school this week," I said.

"I know." She sighed. The forecast called for a warming trend over the next several days. "So much for this being the rainiest place in the continental U.S. I probably won't see you at all on Saturday either."

The girl who so loved the sun was wishing for rain . . . But what was happening next weekend? Alice hadn't told me she'd seen anything untoward.

"My dad's friend, Harry, bagged the salmon mother lode last weekend. He's having a barbeque down at La Push on Saturday."

"Fish fry, again?" I joked, though I realized that her father's friend must be Harry Clearwater.

"I wish you could come too, but"—and she smirked—"I know, I know; Quileutes meet Cullens make Heap Big Bad Medicine."

"I can't believe you just said that!"

"Why not? Jacob says stuff like that all the time. It's not racist. And I told you he doesn't believe the legends."

I hated it when she talked about Jacob Black. Why? He was just her friend. I couldn't count him as a rival, not in the same way as Mike Newton. Could I?

"You and Jacob would get along really well, I think."

"That's not going to happen, Bella. I can't go to La Push."

"What would they do?" she challenged.

"It would be a direct violation of the treaty."

"Jacob already violated it."

"Yes, he did. But they don't know that. We're trying to keep the peace here." _We're trying to be the more evolved species_. She frowned stubbornly, making me impatient. "If I walked onto La Push beach, they'd assume I was there to hunt. End of story."

"Even if … ?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. Please, Bella."

She pouted. "It's going to be terrible not seeing you all day."

"I'll come for you at night time."

"Will you take me to your hot springs?" She seemed to have a bee in her bonnet about the hot springs. I didn't understand the attraction.

"It's still really cold at night."

"But . . . "

"I'm supposed to keep you safe, remember? What would your father think if I let you catch cold?"

"I guess . . . "

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the lawn. It was already darkening in the valleys below. Far away, the animals of the night were stirring. We caught the howls of canines on the hunt. Bella shivered at the eerie calls.

"Don't be scared."

"My protector." She grinned. "I'm not scared. I like the wolf song."

"They're coyotes," I corrected.

"I didn't know you had coyotes around here. They sound different from the ones in the desert."

I shrugged. "They're everywhere." Coyotes were an opportunistic species. Like vampires_._

Bella wrapped both arms around her body, allowing herself a shiver. "We should probably head back, right?"

We stowed the blanket and books inside her backpack. I looked around, deciding the best course of action. We'd taken our time walking up here this afternoon; darkness made no difference to me, but I didn't want her tripping on tree roots and hurting herself. She hadn't brought a jacket either.

"I could run you down to the car and come back for the rest of our things."

"No, that's okay. I can carry the backpack. And if you don't speed like a maniac, I can hang on to your guitar case too. Seriously: you don't have to be the pack-horse all the time."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

I tidied the space at vampire speed and held my hand out to her when she was loaded up.

"Ready?"

She laughed nervously as she took it, letting me swing her onto my back. "Of course not."

"Better close your eyes, then."

"No." She rested her cheek against mine. "This time, I'm going to watch."

* * *

**A/N:**

1. The 'story' that Edward and Bella refer to is actually Tennyson's poem, "The Lady of Shallot". You may have caught that little nod to Keats during their banter, as well.

2. I've created an image gallery to accompany this chapter, here: photobucket . com s830 . photobucket albums / zz224 / Woodlily_2010 / Tug%20and%20Pull / ?albumview=slideshow. All the paintings featured are by John William Waterhouse.

2. In this chapter, Edward doesn't tell us a lot about his meeting with Charlie because the older man's mind is still mostly closed to him. Charlie has his own view of what happened that night. You can read about it in "Counterpoints Chapter 2: Stoic Squirm".


	28. Sea to Sky

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters, but Edward-in-My-Head is mine.**

**Welcome back to my lovely beta Lezlee, fresh and relaxed after her Cuban vacation. Thanks to Malianani for her pre-reading comments and to my Italian friends Raum and Camilla, who helped me get the idiom in the right context.  
**

* * *

**Playlist Pick:**  
Lonely Boy – The Black Keys  
Possession - Sarah McLachlan  
**Bonus track:** Shambala - The Beastie Boys (R.I.P. Ad-Rock). Yeah, I can imagine Edward shredding to this. Complete with 'Tibetan throat singing' (See chapter 18).

* * *

_**A Quick Recap:** It's sunny in Forks and Edward can't go to school. The AU detour continues as we catch up with him in the wilds of British Columbia. First though, a trip down memory lane._

* * *

**SEA TO SKY**

_When I was small, I believed in monsters. I imagined them lurking beneath my bed, plotting, waiting for the night they'd come to get me. They'd take me away and I'd spend eternity in their world, never to see my parents again. _

_Would my mother and father grieve for their little boy lost, or after a while would seem to them as if I'd never existed? I didn't know what notion frightened me more. I began to fight bedtime. I would not lie down until my mother had checked under the bed and assured me there were no monsters there. I could not sleep unless a light was left burning in the hallway. I knew that monsters feared the light. _

_When I grew older, I realized that there were no such things as monsters. I came to understand that separating from my parents was part of growing up, and that it did not mean they loved me any less._

_My parents were gone before I truly grew up. Taken by disease. I died too. Maybe I would have died anyway, limbless and forgotten in a muddy French grave. I died, but I was reborn to spend eternity in a different state of being. _

_I barely remember that other life anymore. It hurts when I try. Carlisle says it's normal for human memories to fade and that I'm doing remarkably well, all things considered. But I don't_ _know what it means to function_ well _in this new body. I'm not like him. _

_I want to remember my parents. I want to mourn them but I can't even cry._

_Today, he brought me a few mementos that he thought might help— some of my mother's jewellery and my father's pocket watch. It was all I could do not to rip them from his hands to get to the human scents they still carried, but I stopped myself. I could tell he was proud of me._

_He'd found some journals I'd once written in and gave them to me also, hoping that I might discover in those pages something of the person I used to be. I came across a recollection of the little boy who feared monsters, but I barely recognize the naïve youth who wrote those words. _

_I am different now. _

_I have new abilities and I've learned to use them. I can see into the hearts of men, and I know that monsters do exist. They live inside us all, in the dark, hidden corners of our souls. _

_Edward Masen ~ October, 1919._

* * *

_**miss u so much!**_ Bella's message was sweet. Emphatic. _**hate txting**_, she added. _**buterfnigrs**_.

I didn't like texting either, but I was grateful her father had put her on his phone plan.

_thanks for the drawing_, I replied.

I'd been ungracious not to accept it the other day. She'd wanted to give me a gift from her heart and I could see that now. And I was glad to have it, tucked into my jacket pocket. I just wish I knew how she'd managed to sneak it in there—when had she gone through my wardrobe, anyway? She never failed to surprise me.

_I miss you._

Over the past two days, I'd come to remember exactly what humans meant by the phrase, "It feels like it's been forever." My brothers would have teased me with great glee had they known. And it was entirely illogical because my perfect memory would never let me forget a single thing about her.

I could picture the look on her face as she realized she'd forgotten the punch line in the midst of telling a joke. And there was a certain time of night when I found myself listening for her dream-talk. One particular scent, wafting through an open shop window, made me think of her hair, warm and wet and freshly washed.

And the deadly sweet burn of her blood haunted me still. Just imagining it was enough to send a carnal shiver racing through my body, and I hated myself for that. She'd become so very dear to me—why was I still so weak?

She was dear to me but she was far away in Forks, waiting for her afternoon classes to begin. Meanwhile, I was hurtling down a mountain highway in my father's car, wracking my brains for something interesting to tell her. But absolutely nothing of note had happened to me in the past two days. She'd just be bored by talk of real estate . . .

_how's school? _I finally asked.

_**ur not missing anything. mikes my bio pratnr this week—**_this was not welcome news at all_**—swear he just plays stupid so i help him study.**_

Oh yes, I could just imagine it. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? I knew the reason of course . . . My right hand curled around the armrest with just a little too much pressure, making the leather upholstery squeak in protest. I smiled blandly at Carlisle, trying to smooth out the dents my fingers left behind.

_**hanging out w/angela a lot, **_Bella continued.

_she's nice._

_**yeah she is**_—there was a pause—_**where are u now? **_

_heading back to vancouver. _

We were supposed to be camping in Oregon. At least, that was the story the school administrators believed. None of them blinked an eye at our absences anymore. Esme and the girls had gone to Seattle to spend a few days at a very discreet spa but Emmett and Jasper _were_ camping there. Carlisle and I might have joined them had we not been called away on business north of the border.

Our property near Lillooet was up for rent. It had been leased to the same couple for nearly a decade, but they'd decided to retire early and move somewhere warmer. We knew our realtor would have no problem lining up new tenants, but we hadn't checked on the place for over a year. Carlisle hadn't been skiing as often as he'd wanted to last winter either, and the snow season in British Columbia was far from over. For him, the timing of the fair weather in Forks couldn't have been better.

_**lots of snow up there?**_

_plenty. _

_**sweet! **_She was being kind; I knew how much she still disliked the cold.

Frankly, I'd have been happy to stay home alone. I could have slipped out after sundown and visited Bella in her room every night. Carlisle could have taken Esme with him, as the other partner of C.E.E. Inc., but he and I hadn't spent much time together lately. It wouldn't have been right to refuse him.

The journey north had taken the better part of the first day. The next, we'd spent with the estate agent, surveying the property and deciding what maintenance was immediate and what could wait. The unspoken agreement in the family was that we'd move to Lillooet next. Esme intended to renovate and expand the house much as she'd done with our place in Forks.

I hated the thought of moving, inevitable though it was. We'd been in Forks nearly two years now; we could reasonably expect to live there for two more if we were lucky. Any longer than that and people would start to notice we weren't aging. That was when we'd disappear, leaving the residents of yet another sleepy backwater to wonder what happened to us and why we never said goodbye. Eventually, they'd forget the very private family who lived in the big house on the outskirts of town. It was a pattern we'd followed for decades.

But Bella had changed all that. I could leave Forks if I had to, but I knew I could never leave her. Such was my addiction to her.

On the other hand, none of us were obligated to stay with Carlisle. Emmett and Rosalie would leave over the summer, ostensibly to 'go to college'. I hadn't mentioned this to anyone, but I'd started thinking that I might not follow the family on our next move.

For now at least, I could deal with this separation, knowing that it would be short and Bella would be safe and well when I returned. I wouldn't have gone unless Alice had been sure of it.

_**coming home soon?**_

_saturday remember?_ We'd be back that afternoon, while she and her father were at La Push.

_**yeah i know**_—butshe seemed to need reassurance—_**come to my room?**_

_promise._

_**banners here now. gotta go**_. _**b safe ok?**_

_that's my line_, I teased.

_**i mean it!**_

She signed off with a smile—she always did that. The wallpaper of my phone showed her smiling face too, crowned with flowers in our meadow. I switched it off, reminding myself that we'd be together again in only two more days.

_Is everything all right?_ Carlisle hadn't missed my stifled sigh.

"Of course," I answered brightly. He'd been looking forward to this getaway and I didn't want to spoil it for him.

_I thought you might have had word from your sister._

"No, that was Bella."

_Ah_. His smile was affectionate but as always, his thoughts were tempered with concern—for both of us. He understood the intensity of our bond but it worried him. He would never, ever pry.

We drove on in silence for some time, winding down steep switchbacks then climbing up the far side of the valley. At this altitude, the snowpack was still dense and deep; the world was white and black and granite-grey. Thick clouds of Pacific moisture clung to the mountains like veils.

_That went well, I think, _he mused, referring to the business in Lillooet.

"Everything certainly seemed to be in order. And the estate agent was"—I struggled for the best way to put it—"enthusiastic."

He frowned. We'd met her in person for the first time yesterday, and it was immediately obvious she'd been completely taken with him. She'd gone out of her way to attend to all the financial housekeeping, even insisting on personally—and needlessly—showing the handsome young doctor and his 'cousin' around the property. She boasted about the improvements the tenants had made as if they were her own.

Her thoughts about Carlisle grew increasingly explicit as the day wore on; it had been a _very_ long day.

His frown became a scowl as he thought about it. _I believe I made it clear that I'm _very_ married._

"I think that only encouraged her, actually."

He just snorted, drumming his first two fingers forcefully against the steering wheel.

_I am sorry to see the Rundles go, though; they took such good care of the place. Esme'll be pleased. _

"Yes," I agreed absently. I knew she had big plans for the property. I felt his gaze flicker to me but I wouldn't meet it. I just continued to count the lodge pole pines streaking past the window

_I expect we'll have new tenants very soon, _he predicted._ Esme's in no hurry to move . . . Actually, I think we're all very comfortable in Forks right now._

I gave him a grateful smile.

"Would you like to drive?" he finally asked aloud. "You really should feel the way the car runs since its last tune up."

I grinned. "Smooth, is it?"

"Like silk."_ Of course, I have only the best mechanics._

I was pleased, but I couldn't take any of the credit this time. "It should be. Rosalie put in a lot of work." She was far and away my superior when it came to automobile maintenance.

_She certainly has a gift._

He pulled over at the next soft shoulder and let me take the wheel. He'd figured the distraction would do me good and he was right. The Mercedes was built for roads like these. He didn't even complain when I was harder on the gears than preferred me to be.

The last time I'd driven it, the roads had been much the same. Forests for thousands of miles. Above, only jagged ice and rock and snow. I'd been running then, from the monster newly awakened within me. I'd returned home to face it, but in no way had I beaten it. It lurked under the surface, my sinister twin. I'd never be rid of it. And I could never afford to be complacent.

I tried to put these thoughts out of my head and give my full attention to the road, difficult though it was. The Coast Mountains emerged from the ice mist at the far end of the valley, and with them soared Carlisle's anticipation. Nestled within this thin volcanic belt, lay the provincial park where we'd stop for some rest and recreation.

* * *

_Not far now . . . almost there . . ._ I dug my fingers into the rock face so I could get a better grip. It felt solid, but would it hold my weight? I experimented, releasing first one foot and then the other. The ancient lava bed held fast beneath me and I exhaled the breath I'd been holding. When I replaced my feet, I began to crawl across it, inching sideways like a spider It was slow going, but I didn't need to remind myself that what waited on the other side would be _very much _worth the effort.

Finally I could see the summit again, peeking over one last outcrop. A few more meters and I'd be able to hoist myself over the ledge, just like it was Bella's windowsill. Slow and steady, climbing higher . . . getting closer . . . and then I heard a crack and my fingers were curled around rock no longer attached to the mountainside and I was falling, slipping, sliding, crashing right back to the ledge I'd set off from moments before.

I landed on my backside, the wallop knocking all the air out of my lungs. For a second I thought this ledge might give way too, sending me on bumpy ride to the bottom of the mountain, but the shaking subsided and it held firm. I soon realized that I'd been the one doing the shaking.

Fearing the worst, I unbuckled the harness of my snowboard and removed it. It was a little dented, but it was still in one piece. The bindings weren't damaged, at least.

I glanced up at the outcrop I'd fallen from. Most of it had given way, so I'd have to find another way around now. I was determined to scale this peak; I'd noticed the slope as I was boarding down an adjoining mountain and I'd rarely seen anything so perfect. Crisp and smooth and white as the t-shirt Bella wore to bed.

I got to my feet, brushed off the debris from the fall, and strapped my board back in its harness.

This mountain sat in a remote outcrop near the western boundary of the park. Only the most experienced winter tourists ventured here, and they were few and far between. Carlisle and I didn't feel like tourists anymore. We knew this place well.

We'd gone our separate ways today. He was skiing the glaciers and probably ice-climbing too. He had a passion for scrambling down the undersides of glaciers and taking photos of the shapes the sunlight made coming through the cracks. I don't relish the idea of crawling through cramped spaces, so I left him to it. I did see his ant-like figure on the snowfield once, from a great distance. I don't if he saw me wave.

The climb back up was very much worth my while. There weren't many peaks in the park as high as this one—except for Mt. Garibaldi, standing sentinel in the near distance—and one whose name I did not know. I stood at the summit for a while, watching the ebb and flow of the clouds spilling into the valley, almost like the ocean pouring into a bay. Through the breaks, I caught brief glimpses of the ski hills outside the park boundary, to the south and west. Had it been a bright day below, I could have seen all the way to Vancouver.

It was time. I strapped my feet onto the board and nudged it to the top of the chute—a sixty-degree slope of pristine powder. In the pause, I felt pure exhilaration. The blue sky shimmered in the thin atmosphere, and the only sounds were the wind above and the shush of snow beneath my board as it inched forward—slowly at first, but gaining speed with every second. And then I dove into the clouds.

I was on top of obstacles almost before I saw them. Vampire reflexes helped me dodge a rocky outcrop in one second and avoid going off the cliff face in the next. I was snaking, cutting back and forth down the slope. I banked left, avoiding some scraggly bushes. Banking right would have sent me off another cliff—I couldn't see the drop, just sense the empty space beyond. Then the clouds broke, revealing the fall line of the slope. I was cutting across it, traversing back and forth like a falling leaf when I heard the almighty crack. Instinctively, I leaped.

And then I was flying.

The supporting layers of snow on the outcrop I'd leaped from had given way and the avalanche bore down, breaking on either side of me. I was flying blind in a wave of snow—an ocean of noise. But I was gaining; there was light up ahead. I was faster and I knew I'd out run it. Another ledge had me vaulting clear, into the sunlight, laughing hysterically. I spun and spun, bearing down the mountain to the plain below.

A lone figure stood unmoving on the glacial expanse. My heelside turn brought me to a stop right in front of him, and he didn't flinch at the spray of snow that hit him, straight on.

"Did you see me?" I was still giddy—unable to stop laughing.

"I saw you leap." Carlisle shook the snow from his hair with a grin. "What was that you did coming out of the wall—a three-sixty?"

"Seven-twenty, more like."

_Show off_. He smirked, brushed the snow from his jacket. "I'm surprised your board's still in one piece."

My polymer warhorse was battered and bruised. It had served me well, but this would be its last season. Luckily, I knew that Emmett had already planned to make me a new one by Christmas.

Carlisle jerked his chin at the mountainside where little falls of snow and ice were still coming down. "That was quite the show. You'll have the wardens out here in no time."

He was right about that. They'd be obligated to investigate the avalanche, and it was best that we made ourselves scarce. I stepped out of the bindings and tipped up the board to brush snow off the underside.

"How was your scramble?"

"Invigorating. I found the most amazing crevasse—an ice cave, really. The light was absolutely stunning. I don't think the photos will do it justice."

The scenes I saw in his memory were far more impressive than any photographs ever would be. "You should bring Esme up next time. She can paint what you see."

"Maybe." He clapped me on the shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I've worked up quite an appetite."

"Ready for some après-ski?"

_You must've read my mind._

* * *

We try to follow local rules and customs whenever we travel. Using vehicles, making campfires, and hunting were all forbidden activities in Garibaldi. We avoided the camping facilities that were available, choosing instead to make our own, just outside the western boundary of the park. We sought our prey in the forest north of Squamish.

It had been too long since I'd hunted with my father. Generally speaking, my kind hunts alone, instinctively. But perhaps because my family chooses not to hunt our 'natural' prey, we retain enough reason to enable us to act cooperatively. One has only to watch a pride of lions hunting to get the sense of what it's like to hunt as we do. And as with any hunt, sometimes the odds are in one's favour and sometimes they just aren't. It's never easy to predict what animals you'll encounter, and where they will be.

We came across a herd of woodland caribou just after dusk, but they're rare and we couldn't justify taking from their numbers, no matter where we were. We moved on. As we did, I came to the conclusion that these woods would have been fine hunting grounds for Emmett, had he been with us. The black and grizzly bear populations were obviously healthy and growing. But the game Carlisle and I sought remained elusive. We trudged for a while, sinking into knee-deep snow. I wished we'd brought snowshoes, but they were difficult to run in. And we'd need to run, sooner or later.

Carlisle was about to suggest moving on to another valley further south when the wind picked up. His lips curled back, exposing his teeth in a grimace as he let the scent roll over his tongue. I too tasted the scent of deer. The herd was maybe a mile or two away.

It was only moments before we came upon them, nervously entering a clearing, picking their way with their peculiar halting gait slowly, through deep, heavy drifts. It was a small harem: the stag kept watch over a half-dozen does, and some yearlings, both male and female. This year's fawns were yet to be born.

Carlisle motioned for me to cut left, down the bottom of the hill while he sped right, whipping between the trees along the crest of the ridge. We moved too fast for them to see us, but like all prey animals they knew instinctively when they were under pursuit. The buck bounded forward and his does immediately followed. They didn't know what they were running from—only that we smelled like death to them. We let them gain ground and tire. We'd soon wear them down.

I watched Carlisle take down a yearling with ease and veer off into the underbrush to kill it. My split-second distraction allowed the herd to move ahead again, faster now, panicked. It didn't matter; I'd already singled out the one I wanted. A young doe turned left at the same hillock where the rest of the herd ran right, momentarily disorienting herself. I watched her struggle through the deepening drifts, desperately trying to get back to the trail the rest of the herd had taken. She found it, and she was heading right to me, but at the instant I would have pounced, she wheeled away and took off, back the way she'd come. She was alone. The herd could not protect her now. Did she know how this would end as I let her go?

Her scent was ripe on the breeze—potent. Fuelled by fear. It would not be long before I caught her. She was tiring—confused. Lost. I slowed to a walk, following her trail as it stuttered and slowed. And then it stopped. There she was, at rest in a copse of naked aspen, grazing. Did she feel protected or had she given up? The moon was aglow, striking her pelt at odd angles through the trees. It shone with sweat—a familiar deep brown that twisted my stomach. I licked my lips. So beautiful. Succulent. She was beautiful, and she _was_ mine. I'd make her mine.

Sensing my approach, she turned her soft, wide eyes to me. Gentle. Curious. I knew that look. She wasn't afraid. She'd been waiting for me. For the end. Or was it the beginning? A quiver crossed her flanks, echoing in my own.

She watched me leap, not trying to escape, just tensing, readying herself for the cold embrace of death. She gave herself to me, writhing her warm body against mine as I pulled her close, arching her back, offering her milky white throat to my lips. She was resigned to it. This was how it was supposed to be. It was the way it _would be_ when I finally made her mine. She'd live forever.

Teeth pierced soft flesh and the vein gave way. Her moan goaded me, making me bite down harder, moaning with her, sucking, gorging at the release of hot, sweet fluid. Feeling her give her life—her body—up to me.

It took a second before I registered her piteous whimper, and another before I realized that the hot breeze against my cheek was her ragged breath. Our chests rose and fell in unison, and she moaned again. I relaxed our embrace. My eyes opened and met hers, and in the familiar depths I could see her fear. Her pain.

_Why? _they begged.

This was _not_ how it was supposed to be. Her throat had been torn open.

Not again. No, not again . . . There was a howling in my ears.

_Edward?_

Carlisle was on his way. He thought I'd been hurt somehow. Realizing that cry must have been mine, I wiped the blood off my chin.

"Go away!"

_What is it? What's wrong?_

"Don't come over here." But he was already at my side.

I stood in front of the wounded animal, trying to shield the sight of it from him, pointless though it was. He could hear her shallow breathing—the blood gurgling in her lungs—as well as I could. He felt her pain too.

Never taking his eyes off me, he knelt to examine the animal.

_I won't take it from you_, he assured. But I was hardly going to attack him now.

"One of her ribs has pierced a lung. She's suffocating." He said nothing about the ragged wound that was once her throat. "You can't let her suffer."

But he knew I couldn't do it. Impassively, he reached forward and snapped her spinal cord. With a last gurgling sigh, the doe's eyes rolled back in their sockets and her heart ceased its painful beating.

"Has this happened before?"

"Yes." I raked a shaking hand through my hair. "Just, sometimes when I hunt, it . . ." I just sagged. There was no excuse for what I'd done.

He waited patiently for me to say more. He'd wait all night if he had to.

"It happened when I weaned myself off human blood the first time," I finally admitted, "and it's been happening again over the last couple of months."

"And does it occur every time you hunt?"

I could feel his diagnostic mind whirring into gear and it irritated me. No medicine he could prescribe would fix this.

"_No_." Suddenly gripped with violent self-loathing, I doubled over, fighting the urge to vomit—"Agh! I'm a _fiend_."

And there was nothing but pity from him, pity I didn't want or deserve. I straightened upright at his approach but couldn't look him in the eye. He cupped a hand around my neck, forcing me to.

_You're no fiend, son._

I pulled away. "I-I should be better than this. I should have more control."

"It's natural to lose control during the hunt." He stepped forward with open arms, mollifying, and it enraged me again. What would _he_ know about the loss of control?

"Is it?"

"I know the pressure you've been under—how you've restrained yourself these past few months. If you don't find a way to release it-"

"This is natural, is it?" I gave a sharp laugh. "I'm not even thirsty—not really. Because nothing in the world will ever taste as good as her blood and I know this. And I hate it. I hate what I am."

And he didn't need to be a mind reader to know who I was referring to. _Oh, Edward. I'm so very sorry._

"Why does it still happen? What's wrong with me?" He looked around helplessly, taking a pace backward as I advanced on him. "You know, don't you? You've known from the beginning."

He gave a sigh. _Your_ _struggle with the blood-_

"It's sick," I spat.

He ignored my interruption._ Your struggle to resist _her_ blood is extreme, but it's not unprecedented . . . There's nothing wrong with you._

He could tell I didn't believe him. He let me pull away, watching me pace the length of the small clearing, hugging my arms to my chest like I was cold.

_È la sua cantante. _

I'd heard that phrase in his mind many times over the past few months, but he'd always turned his thoughts from it when he realized I was listening. I understood Italian well enough, but the meaning of the idiom was lost on me.

"What is it she's singing?" I shouted. "Tell me!"

He nodded to himself, making up his mind._ It's time . . . _Gesturing at the deer, he asked_, Will you finish feeding?_

I swallowed, looking away in distaste. "I can't."

_Fair enough._ He uprooted a tree and shoved the carcass into the hollow beneath. _Let's return to camp, then. Will you help me collect some firewood on the way? _

I shrugged and he made to leave. Realizing I wasn't right behind him, he turned back and came to place a pleading hand on my shoulder.

_I promise, I'll tell you everything I know._

* * *

Carlisle added another log to the fire then sat back against an upturned log, warming his hands briefly, needlessly before pressing them together. I watched expectantly and waited as he gathered his thoughts.

_Where to begin?_ he wondered.

"How about at the start?"

My quip made him chuckle. _That's probably the best place, _he agreed, but when he looked up again, he was earnest.

_I am sorry you have to go through this. I'd hoped you'd be spared. After all these years . . . and your impeccable control . . ._ He shrugged slowly, sighing out his confusion. _Maybe that's why it's so much more intense._

_When I look at you, I don't see a fiend. I see my son and my best friend, as I always have. And I see your torment. I can't begin to imagine what you must go through. _

Of course he couldn't. He'd never had to fight anything like this. Despite what he'd just said, _he _was the epitome of control, not me. I didn't deserve to stand in his shadow. But that's not what he was thinking.

_But you should count every day that young woman remains alive as a victory and a blessing. I know how happy she makes you. Believe me when I say that I've never been more proud of you than during these past few months._

How could I believe him when all I saw was the monster in my eyes? A pile of corpses lay between us for a moment, looming for him as a faceless mass. But I remembered every single face, frozen in the horror of its last living moment. We never spoke of my rebellious years. Of course, nothing I'd experienced then came close to what had happened to me the moment I'd first detected Bella's scent. He still blamed himself that I left back then. Just as he blamed himself now.

_I've let you down so badly. I should have been honest with you, right from the beginning._ He smiled fondly. _You are your own man. But, as your sire, I can't help being protective._

_When you came to me at the hospital the day you met Bella, I did know what had happened. In fact, my friends in Italy have a name for it—for what happens when a vampire meets a human whose blood is more appealing than any other's. When the blood is so potent, it calls out like a siren's song. _

Yes . . . that was how it felt to me. Exactly.

_It's a part of their lore and it's greatly romanticized. There are even poems written about it—truly, _he affirmed._ To encounter one's singer was supposedly the greatest joy of a vampire's existence, and at same time his greatest sorrow._

"Why?"

_Because the singer's life would be over in a flash and the vampire in question would spend the rest of eternity trying to recreate the experience. Searching, but never finding that perfect taste. _He smiled without humour._ Frankly, I believed they used it as an excuse to justify barbarism. I saw many vampires aroused by scent in the thrall of the hunt—that goes without saying—but nothing that provided concrete proof to me the phenomenon existed._

_I spent much of this life alone of course, so it wasn't until I had a family that I witnessed it firsthand. _

There was a noise far off in the forest—a flurry of animals in flight, sending us both momentarily on the alert. As the sound died away, Carlisle glanced at me questioningly. I shrugged.

"Emmett," I said, returning his attention to the story.

_And Esme, as well_.

For Emmett, there had been two: the woman he'd stalked across the prairie, and an Inuit hunter in Alaska. The blood of an unsuspecting salesman had sung to Esme when he'd come to the door that summer day in Wisconsin—in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I remembered these mishaps. As Emmett had so bluntly put it, I'd even been there to help clean up the mess from time to time.

"Was Esme your singer?"

He smiled._ Esme's blood didn't sing to me, but everything else about her did. I've never met my singer. I've become so inured to the scent of human blood now that I doubt I ever will. _

"What causes it, do you think?"

_What makes one person attractive to you and not to another? _he asked._ I believe it comes down to blood chemistry. Perhaps, not every vampire has a singer. But I do think your situation is unique. I've never heard of a case where the singer lived long enough for the vampire to fall in love with them._

"So, there really is no hope, then? Alice is right that I'll be the death of Bella one day?"

_You know that's not how she sees it, _he demurred. _Besides,_ _I've found that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own points of view._ He referred to my conviction that I was a monster. He still believed it of himself to a degree.

_Every day that Bella lives proves that's not true_. _You can't change the past. And you can't control the future. Not even Alice can truly predict it. You can only live in the present. And I'll tell you again that in this present moment, I have never been more proud of you._

I didn't protest his opinion this time. I let myself see him the way he did for a while, trying to believe it as well. I wished I could.

"Why did you keep this from me?" I asked eventually.

_Would you have returned from Alaska if you'd known? _We both knew the answer to that question. How different would my life be now if I'd stayed? But once again, his train of thought traveled a different track from mine.

_At heart, I am a selfish man, _he began.

"No, Carlisle. You're not-" But he raised a hand to quiet me.

_I was afraid_. _I'd already lost you once; I couldn't bear the thought of it again. _Clear of the gauze of the bloodlust and panic I'd felt then, I experienced his anguished memories for the first time. _Let us help you, _he'd begged_. We'll come with you if that's what you want . . . _He would've done anything.

Only now, after spending the best part of a century with him, did I understand. Only here, in these lonely woods did it become clear to me that I was the one person he could not bear to lose. Above all the others—even Esme. Because I'd been the one to end his loneliness.

_I loaned you my car because it was faster, _he continued_. _And because he knew I'd feel obligated to return it. It had been weeks before I'd figured that out.

He wasn't the selfish one. I was. I'd put my family through hell these past few months, running from them and shutting them out.

"I should never have gone to Alaska. I should've let you help."

He shrugged, smiling through his pain. _The fresh air must've helped clear your head. You came back, after all . . . _

I rolled my eyes. "I unburdened myself to _Tanya_, of all people."

_She's been a good friend to you over the years._

"Maybe I haven't been such a good friend to her. I've hurt her feelings."

_Oh?_ He had difficulty imagining a sensitive succubus.

"She's been calling, you know. She's inquired about our plans for the summer."

He raised an eyebrow. He knew as well as I did our cousins' tendencies to drop by, unannounced.

"I told her that I wouldn't be going up north again this year—and that it probably wasn't a good idea for any of them to come down here, either."

_Why not?_

"I don't want other vampires catching Bella's scent. Even vegetarians."

He thought I was being overprotective. Did he guess the other reason I had for putting them off? Alice had predicted either death or life as a vampire for Bella when I'd first met her. She'd already expressed the desire to be with me forever. What if she asked one of my cousins to help her achieve it?

If he did guess, he kept it to himself._ How did that go over?_

"Not well," I admitted. "It only made her more curious."

But I didn't want to talk about Tanya's coven now. I still had so many questions for him.

"Tell me about-" I began, but abruptly cut myself off. I felt a prickling at the edge of my awareness. A presence.

Animals usually fled the moment they sensed us . . .

_What is it? _Carlisle asked immediately.

There it was again, just coming into range. I could perceive thought now. Rational thought.

"Someone's coming," I said.

* * *

**A/N:**

1. Medical opinion on the blood singer phenomenon are those expressed by Carlisle Cullen, M.D. askcarlislecullen . tumbler. com

2. Highway 99, also known as the Sea to Sky Highway, is the major north-south artery running through the Greater Vancouver area of British Columbia from the U.S. border, up Howe Sound through the Sea to Sky Country to Lillooet. In this writer's opinion, it's one of the most scenic drives in North America – or anywhere, for that matter: infovancouver . com/ excursions / sea-to-sky-highway

3. Edward and Carlisle were getting some R & R at Garibaldi Provincial Park, British Columbia. See: env . gov . bc. ca / bcparks / explore / parkpgs / garibaldi / The photos on this website are especially good.

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**Thank you for reading. Your thoughts comments, as always, mean a great deal to me. They're why I continue to write, in spite of real life, writer's block-and yes, my own wretched procrastination.**

**I am leaving in a few days on a three-week vacation. It'll be busy, but I do plan to make time for writing while I'm away. With any luck, I may be able to post soon after I return.**

**Take care, everyone. XOXOXOX**


	29. Stranger

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters, but I like pretending that Edward is my own.**

**Thanks to my dear friend and beta Lezlee, and to Miokuancha and Malianani, my pre-readers. They never fail to point out what's 'right there in front of me'.**

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**Playlist Pick**:  
Under the Milky Way – The Church

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**My apologies, again, for the long gap between posts. I'll explain in the end-notes. [Actually, it's all been really, really good]. Since it's been so long, you may want to re-read chapter 28 to refresh your memories. If not, here's a brief summary:**

Faced with a sunny week in Forks, the Cullen family disperses around the Pacific Northwest for a holiday. Edward and Carlisle journey to British Columbia and take care of some estate matters. On the way home they stop in Garibaldi Provincial Park near Vancouver, for a few days of R & R. After dusk on their next to last day, they realize they're not alone in the forest:

_I felt a prickling at the edge of my awareness. A presence . . . I could perceive thought now. Rational thought._

"_Someone's coming," I said . . .  
_

* * *

_You're sure?_ Carlisle verified.

After all these years he knew better than to doubt me. It was out of habit that he inclined his head, straining to hear more than just the wind sighing through the pines.

We'd camped well off the marked trails but sound travels far in the mountains. We would have heard the growl of a snowmobile long ago. The squeak and sush of snow being compacted beneath skis is also distinct, and we'd have heard that too.

It took an experienced individual to venture into the back-country alone, after sundown. Or someone irretrievably stupid. It was no trapper coming on foot, I could tell that much. The approach was so swift, so _silent_. A stark contrast to the busy mind I was beginning to perceive. One full of questions.

I wasn't picking up an inner monologue yet—just images, really. Feelings. I sensed curiosity, anticipation, and . . . and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. An instinct for self-preservation? But not fear. At this point, I sensed no fear at all. Suddenly, it occurred to me that there were neither footsteps to be heard, nor heartbeats. We were down wind, as well. Where was the scent?

Less than a mile away, and I began catching glimpses of the approach from the stranger's point of view. I saw pine boughs and weathered trunks flying past at great speed. Not on foot at all . . .

"Carlisle, I think it's-"

_One of us. _He thought the words I spoke aloud_._

We should not have been surprised like this. We'd heard the animals warning one another that there was something unnatural in the woods. But we'd been too wrapped up in conversation to pay them any attention. Besides, those alarm calls were usually about _us_.

We hadn't tried to cover our tracks when we returned to camp, either—why _hadn't _we done that? _Why would we need to_, my rational mind argued? We'd come here for years, never encountering a soul. Not that vampires have souls . . .

_How many? _Carlisle demanded.

"Just the one," I shut my eyes so I could concentrate on the stranger's thoughts. "He's been looking for us." I said, blinking them open in surprise.

_Evidently, he's found us. _Carlisle stroked his chin, pondering the correct course of action. That was when the scent came. A confirmation. Just a few faint notes on the wind at first, then it was cloying. Like jasmine.

"A friend of yours?" I muttered.

_It's nobody I know._

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck—my fists clenched and released of their own accord. If he was newborn and became aggressive, then confrontation might be unavoidable. We couldn't rely on our superior force in any event. My ability to read minds would be an advantage, but it was in situations like this that Jasper's skill was invaluable. I wished that he were here right now.

_What else have you learned?_

"He's curious." And he was very close by.

_That's only natural._

I was learning more with each passing second. He'd seen the avalanche in the park and gone to inspect the slide. He'd been surprised to find footprints leading away from it so he'd followed the trail, only to lose it somewhere in the woods. His distractions led him across some backcountry trails, which he followed without interest, until the scent of smoke diverted him. Unlike other predators, he wasn't afraid of fire. Fire in these parts indicated prey at rest somewhere.

The hunting was really _too easy_ in these woods, he'd thought as he ran. A vampire could become complacent. It was poor form to play with one's food but he could seldom resist. This time he'd let his quarry live just long enough to see death coming.

And so, unwittingly, he found what he'd been looking for in the first place. He was within sight of our campfire when he realized he wasn't the only superior predator hunting in these woods.

How could he know the territory had already been claimed?

So, now he ghosted between the pines on the far side of the clearing, his natural inquisitiveness waging war with the wisdom of experience. _If this is their territory, then why don't they protect it? _He did not wish to fight. He was peaceful by nature, even though his path through this life hadn't always been that way.

_Why won't he come forward? _Carlisle asked._ He must know we're aware of him._

"Of course he does," I whispered, scanning the stranger's mind. He was observing us carefully, trying to make sense of our interactions. He wondered which one was the leader? "He won't make the first move, though."

_He's afraid?_

I looked down and away.

_He's waiting for an invitation?_ He blinked, unbelieving, then his lips pressed into a thin line. He disliked this type of maneuvering. _Well, then. Let's give him one_.

I followed him to his feet, mimicking his open-armed stance and allowing my mind to fully open as I did. I would become the vessel of everything that went unsaid during this exchange.

"Show yourself, my friend," Carlisle called. "We mean you no harm."

The civil greeting surprised the stranger. He'd already assumed, correctly, that Carlisle was in charge, but his quiet authority was not what he'd expected. He hadn't come across a coven leader so civilized since . . . since he'd been in Italy. That was an experience he recalled with some bitterness, I quickly realized. There was the memory: the papery scrape of Aro's skin as he withdrew his hand—his voice a soft lament—'_My friend, if only you'd come to us sooner. As it stands, our ranks are full.' _I tucked it into a corner of my mind.

Carlisle was nothing like Aro. He never spoke ill of his former mentor, but I knew what he'd seen in Volterra. And I knew why he'd never brought me to meet him. Carlisle did not command his coven in that way—he didn't _command_, period—but his authority was real and very powerful. It was obvious to anyone who'd ever met him.

And perhaps that's where this man's gift lay. I could feel him gravitate to that aura of power. He wondered how he might benefit from an association with Carlisle.

The other one – _me_—he reckoned he could do away with if he had to, and that casual dismissal made me angry. He wasn't the first to assume that my youthful appearance meant I was weak. But he had no idea what I was capable of.

_What is it? _Carlisle heard me stifle a snarl.

And of course I couldn't respond—not at the risk of revealing my gift. I shouldn't have distracted him like that.

But the man was waiting for his invitation and he wouldn't show himself until he got one. His reserve was natural: nomads exist, perpetually poised either for flight or fight, and I could tell he'd lived that way for a very long time.

Carlisle tried again. "Would you come sit by the fire a while?"

And there he was, on the far side of the clearing. To human eyes, he would have seemed to appear out of nowhere.

I guessed that he must have been about forty when he was changed, and he wasn't particularly tall—Rosalie's height, if that. There was an olive tint to the pallor of his skin, and he wore his long black hair tied back in a ponytail. He dressed like a backpacker, in a button-down shirt and frayed jeans. And despite the snow, he was barefoot.

His eyes never left us as he stepped into the firelight. Red irises of course, like the coals burning deep in the flames. His movements were vulpine. And though he was wary, I could tell his curiosity was rapidly overwhelming his caution.

He stepped forward and squatted by the fire, putting both hands out to the flames. This was a most pleasant and unexpected welcome he thought, luxuriating in warmth he'd not felt in a long time. And he was fascinated by the fire: _Why do they have need of it? _He glanced around him, wondering what use we'd have for camping equipment for that matter. These were two of the strangest vampires he'd ever encountered. Where had they come from? How long had they been here? He had so many questions . . . it would be impolite to remain silent any longer.

"Greetings, brothers." He addressed us with a grin. "I appreciate your hospitality. The comforts of the old life are always welcome, even on such a mild night." He spoke with a Gallic inflection. "My name is Laurent."

My father inclined his head politely. "I'm Carlisle. And this"—he touched my shoulder—"is Edward."

As Laurent's gaze flicked back and forth between the two of us, his easy grin began to fade. He realized that what he was seeing was not just a trick of the light.

_Their eyes! What creatures are these? They walk and talk like men, but . . ._ Even more unsure about what he'd got himself into, he followed protocol and dropped his gaze respectfully. "I apologize for intruding. I did not realize the territory was claimed."

"We don't get to this region as often as we'd like." Carlisle folded his arms over his chest, subtly asserting ownership. "But yes, we claim it."

"And you were well within your rights to defend it." _So why didn't they?_

Carlisle smiled patiently, answering the unspoken question. "It's not our way."

Relieved his life seemed in no immediate danger, he became submissive. "For that, I'm grateful. I left Vancouver just recently. I'm . . . in transit, so to speak."

"You'll have safe passage through here," Carlisle assured him.

He bowed his head again, and at the same time all tension left his body.

An awkward silence followed. _Is he trustworthy,_ Carlisle wondered, but what he really wanted to know was whether Laurent's submissive behavior truly reflected his nature. My hard expression confirmed what he'd already assumed. _Proceed with caution. _

He regarded vampires who fed on human blood with such compassion. It wasn't their fault . . . they just didn't know there was another way. Much as I wanted to, I could never hope to emulate him. For me, these encounters only served as a reminder of that dark time in my life I could never atone for.

Laurent sensed that some unspoken communication was taking place between Carlisle and me, and though he was no telepath, he was astute enough to moderate his manner. _First impressions, after all . . ._ His gaze swept around the campsite again, this time taking in the snowboard and skis propped against a tree.

"You are on holiday?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He wondered if emulating humans made for a more successful hunt.

Carlisle chuckled—even I had to laugh at that. "In a manner of speaking."

Evidently, he'd spent some time on the slopes; I was the one wearing the snowboarding gear and he knew it. He jerked his chin at me. "That was quite the avalanche you triggered before. I should have realized no human could have walked away from it."

I just shrugged—annoyed that it was my showing off that brought us this unwelcome visitor.

"I don't often come across others like us—at least, not outside the cities. You can imagine my surprise . . . " He trailed off with a little laugh. Then he thought about what Carlisle had said about our claim on this territory. "But I've never seen you in Vancouver, and I've been there for a while."

Carlisle wasn't about to divulge the location of our home. Not until he knew more about this stranger. "Like you, we're in transit. We're on our way south."

Laurent nodded, thinking he understood. "One cannot stay anywhere for too long anymore. Humans get more and more curious. And they all have cameras nowadays. They think they know what they see." He rolled his eyes and grabbed a loose branch by his feet to prod the fire, "Although, I do like this place. The humans who come here are quite reckless. And the snowpack is very unstable at this time of year."

That was why the avalanche had attracted him in the first place. He'd come to scavenge.

And in his mind I saw a young man on skis, cutting off an intermediate slope to head out of bounds. He turned to look back at the boundary flags and the huge smile on his face faded, becoming a look of confusion and then terror as he realized he was not alone. Laurent bore down on him, striding down through the deep powder like it was long grass. He let the boy gain some ground—toying with his prey, as he liked to do. Then he leaped. And I couldn't watch anymore.

That boy couldn't have been much older than Bella. He reminded me a little of Eric Yorkie . . . I struggled to control my rage at the past and pay attention to Laurent's thoughts in the here and now.

"I didn't want to leave Vancouver. I had a good life there." He'd prowled the Downtown Eastside for years, preying on vagrants, prostitutes—the occasional street kid. "But since they caught that pig farmeri , hunting is difficult. Now, when someone disappears, the police pay attention." He gave a derisive snort. "He really should've been more careful when he disposed of the bodies."

He could tell that Carlisle and I were both becoming uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation but he couldn't figure out why. "What's your hunting range?" he probed.

Carlisle ignored the assumption behind the inquiry. "Up and down the Coast Ranges here, but mostly in Washington State."

"That's an expansive territory."He was impressed. _So much space for only two?_

"We keep a permanent residence south of the border."

"Permanent, you say?" He actually rocked back on his heels. "How do you manage that?"

"Er, it's rather a long story," Carlisle hedged, immediately regretting it because Laurent pounced.

"It's one I would like to hear," he fawned. "You live as Americans, then?"

"We _are_ Americans," I said through gritted teeth.

"Of course." And that patronizing smile just made me want to punch him. Carlisle didn't like his manner either. "I stay mostly on the Canadian side, myself. It's easy to blend in. The French they speak in the east is a dialect very similar to my own."

"You left during the Revolution?" Carlisle asked, estimating his age.

"Oh, I got out before that unpleasantness. I went to Russia with the one who changed me. Some of my family members"—and here his face betrayed a first hint of bitterness—"were not so lucky. And I ask you: has France been so much better off as a republic? There is still poverty. The peasants still need bread."

The flashes of his past that I'd seen in his mind began to make sense now. He'd followed an older brother into the court of the Sun King. He'd had ambitions to become a courtier himself until he'd met a certain foreign diplomat—one who radiated more power than even the king. I could follow the story . . . After Russia, he'd gone to Rumania for a few years. No wonder the Volturi turned him away . . . I wished I could tell all of this to Carlisle.

"And you?" He was keen to know Carlisle's history.

"I came to the New World about a century before you did." He smiled at me. "I lived alone for a long time before I found Edward."

"Mm . . . I thought I sensed a strong attachment between you."

I was glad he hadn't sensed more than that. If he figured out Carlisle and I were telepathically linked, then he'd realize I could read his mind as well. As it was, Carlisle was a little bemused by his statement. The implication was clear to me, however. And he wasn't the first one to be under this misconception.

"Actually, Carlisle is my sire."

"Your sire?" _That means little_. "I had a relationship with my sire too. It didn't last." He'd left him when he found other, more powerful vampires to follow. "I have not seen him for many years. Ha! Nor would I care to."

And then, the question he'd been desperate to ask: "So, did you inherit your yellow eyes from your sire, Edward?"

_Should I tell him_? Carlisle kept his gaze fixed on Laurent.

What could it hurt? Maybe he'd be so disgusted by the truth that he'd leave. I was getting tired of this obsequious man. He was duplicitous.

"I thought you'd be curious about that. Our entire family shares the same eye colour. But it's a consequence of diet, not genetics."

He wasn't listening to the explanation. He was trying to process the fact that Carlisle referred to our group as a _family_, not a coven.

"You are mated, then?"

"I have a wife, yes."

_Family. Wife_. The terms he used were so _human_.

"So you live with them as their son?" Laurent turned to me. "With brothers and sisters?" He didn't wait for my response; his train of thought rolled directly on.

"You have no desire to leave and find a wife of your own?"

_Now, that's just rude_, Carlisle thought.

Laurent couldn't know the yearning those words stirred in me. To have a family with Bella . . . What an impossible dream that was. It was important not to react—my job was to note his thoughts and his reactions. And he really wasn't interested in my response anyway.

"But, you've left your _family_ all alone," he said to Carlisle. He enjoyed that word. He'd never used it in such context—certainly not in this life. "Don't you fear anarchy?"

"I have no qualms about leaving them. Perhaps it's another consequence of our diet that our coven is democratic. We are bonded as a family."

He still didn't seem to get it.

"We don't prey on humans. We choose to live peaceably among them."

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times before exuding a great gasp. "You're the animal lovers! I-I have heard of your coven—I thought it was a myth."

Astonishment and admiration fought on his face with disgust. "Surely animal blood must be revolting?"

"It's unappealing at first," Carlisle acknowledged. "Not everyone is able to accustom to it. And it takes great discipline to stay with the diet."

"How does it nourish you?" The very thought of consuming animal blood made him want to gag. "I cannot fathom it. Do you hunt carnivores? Herbivores?" He envisioned Carlisle leaping across swamp water to take down a lumbering moose—and me, scrambling across a cliff face after a herd of mountain goats. He really had no idea. "What's your preference?"

"It's not as simple as that." Carlisle's patience was beginning to wear thin. He couldn't read Laurent's mind, but he was an excellent judge of character.

For his part, Laurent was pressing his gift of flattery, envisioning himself ensconced in Washington, enjoying human comforts of hearth and home. "I would very much like to see you hunt one day. Where did you say you lived?"

_No!_ I didn't want him anywhere near Forks. What if he caught Bella's scent? What if her blood sang to him too? The very thought of it made me want to kill him. No: he couldn't be trusted. And Carlisle could sense this too. What he told the man next was truthful, but not entirely . . .

"Er, we didn't. And please don't take this the wrong way, but we generally discourage visitors. You understand that we need to be discreet."

"Understood. I would not hunt on your land."

_Is he being deliberately obtuse?_ "Allow me to be blunt then: our family is complete and we are not interested in adding to our numbers."

The barest shadow passed over his face before it smoothed again to that bland smile. He no longer took rejection personally—just as he discarded those who were of no use to him with little thought or feeling.

"Ah, yes. I understand why you seek privacy. I can imagine the Volturi would frown on you interacting with humans so . . . _openly_. But I have no love for them. I won't reveal the whereabouts of your sect." He didn't know that the Volturi had tolerated an 'animal lover' in their midst for the better part of a century. They'd turned him away before he could find that out.

Carlisle, as always, tried to be conciliatory. "If you're serious about attempting our diet, there is another community like ours in Alaska. They are a small group, and quite isolated. Perhaps they'd accommodate you."

"That's very interesting." But he wasn't interested, not now he knew he was unwelcome. "Well, this has been a _most_ enlightening evening. I have to say that you two are the strangest vampires I've ever met. But I _am_ pleased to have met you. Now, tell me: does your territory extend to the Yukon?"

"No, not so far as that."

"I think I'll head up that way, then. Who knows? I might even keep going on to Alaska and seek out the other animal lovers you mentioned. Adieu, my friends."

And he left as swiftly as he'd come.

As soon as I indicated he was out of range, Carlisle turned to me. _You all right?_

I sighed. "I will be." I needed a moment or two to clear my head. "I'm sorry, Carlisle. I just—when he wanted to insinuate himself like that—I thought about Bella and her friends and-"

He gave me a look full of compassion, thinking about the extra day that we'd planned to stay up here. It didn't seem like such a welcome prospect anymore.

_Do you want to go home?_

My first response was to say 'yes' and rush back to Forks so I could make sure Bella was all right—to hold her close and never let her go. But it was pointless. By the time we returned it would be daylight, and I wouldn't be able to go to her while the weather was fine.

And my worries were equally pointless. There was no indication in Laurent's mind that he had any interest in going to Washington. Even if he did, he had no idea where we lived, nor how many of us there were. Carlisle had been wise not to divulge that information. Besides, the rest of my family would regroup in Forks over the next day. Bella would be well-protected, except possibly from herself.

"No," I said finally. "We'll go back on Friday, as planned. We should make the most of our last day."

_You're sure?_ Certain that I was, he grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. _Another day it is, then._

"I'm glad you turned him away. Thanks for doing that."

_He was presumptuous. And he was rude to you. I wouldn't have anyone as a guest who'd treat my family members disrespectfully. _

He threw another long on the fire_. I gather he's led an _interesting_ life?_

I snorted. "That's an understatement."

_Are you able to elaborate?_

I listened to the sounds of the night for a moment. "Yes, I can. He's long gone."

As we drove home on Friday though, I heard Carlisle having second thoughts about dismissing Laurent so abruptly.

"Don't feel guilty. You did the right thing." I held up a hand because I knew what he was about to say. "You could see as well as me that he was completely self-serving. He has no loyalty to anyone."

He sighed. _I suppose so_.

"You're too compassionate for your own good sometimes. You know that, don't you?"

_So I'm constantly reminded. Between you and Esme . . _. He shook his head good-naturedly. Attempting to change the subject then, he asked if I'd heard from Alice.

"I haven't. Why?"

_Hm . . . I don't know whether that's good or bad._

"When she calls it's usually to deliver bad news, so I'm relieved she hasn't, actually."

_True. _He laughed_. Esme told me the girls enjoyed the spa_. He'd spoken briefly to her earlier before we'd broken camp.

"Alice predicted as much."

_Cheeky, _he thought, then abruptly hissed at me. _Take it easy, will you please?_

I'd shifted gears rather more roughly than I should have. But I couldn't resist: these mountain roads were made to put the Mercedes through its paces.

"She can handle it."

_Maybe, but my nerves cannot. Rosalie would be _most_ unhappy if I brought the car in so soon after her good work. _

I smirked. "Fine. I'll be nice." It would be _me_ that Rosalie would be unhappy with, and I could handle any tantrum she'd care to throw.

We didn't speak much for the rest of the journey. The silence was natural—comfortable. Both of us anticipating arriving home.

We were making good time: we'd arrive home before dawn. I'd be able to run to Bella's house and slip through her open window. I missed her so much. More than anything, I wanted to see that angelic face, asleep in a path of moonlight; to smell the very essence of her as it escaped the soft curve of her chest, rising, falling . . . rising, falling . . .

To hear her sweet voice as she whispered my name in the dark.

* * *

**A/N**:

i Laurent's comment refers to a real-life serial killer who stalked prostitutes in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia for over a decade before being arrested in 2002. Obviously, I'm playing with the dates.

ii I had a wonderful three weeks' holiday in June. Winter Down Under is perfect season for snuggling under blankets and writing. In fact, I enjoyed being alone with the writing so much that I continued my selfish seclusion when I returned home. As a result, I've collected enough chapters to enable me to resume my (sadly erstwhile) bi/tri-weekly publication schedule.

There's no way I'm giving up on this story now. I love Edward in My Head too much not to wait for him.

Thank you, so much, for reading and reviewing. All the very best, ~W


	30. Gifts

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters, but Edward in My Head is mine, all mine.**

**Thanks to my beta Lezlee and to Malianani, pre-reader extraordinaire. **

* * *

**Playlist Picks:**

Till Kingdom Come – Coldplay  
"Moonlight" - II. Allegretto – Ludwig van Beethoven

* * *

_Edward is back in Forks, with his beloved. Sweetness follows. Enjoy..._

**GIFTS**

They'd taken the truck to La Push. Bella must've been pleased about that; she hated the way people stared when the cruiser drove past.

The few times Chief Swan had driven her to school, she'd made him drop her off on the street around the corner. He wasn't sure what embarrassed her more—being driven to school by her father, or being seen in a cop car. Either way, she wasn't his little girl anymore and he was trying to get used to that.

He was oblivious to the gawkers himself. After so many years on the job, they'd become part of the scenery.

But she was oblivious too, when she drove that truck. Ugh. I couldn't understand why she was so proud of that gas-guzzling monstrosity. I mean, I appreciated the sentimentality of her father's homecoming gift. Yes, it was solid as a tank and it gave her independence, but there was always something going wrong with it. To quote the old adage, _'If it was a horse . . . ' _

I'd offered to take care of the leaky oil pan for her before I went away but she wouldn't hear of it. She'd insisted on saving up to pay for a mechanic herself. I wondered how she proposed to do that when she didn't even have a job, but I bit my tongue. Meanwhile, the oily stain the truck left on the driveway spread a little larger every day, as did my worry that something catastrophic might happen to the engine while she was driving.

But as I walked onto the driveway on this moonlit night, I could see that the residue was all dried out. It had been sunny today—perfect for the celebration on the beach that she and her father had attended—and they must've left early.

I'd hoped they'd be back by now. It was after nine o'clock.

Carlisle and I had got home at dawn and it was excruciating not being able to go to and see her. I'd whiled away the bright and dreary daylight hours, wondering . . . and worrying . . . Because no matter how safe she said she felt at La Push, the fact that Alice couldn't see her when she was there still made me very anxious. Of course, my sister saw her driving back up the road at the end of the day, unscathed, just like every other time she'd visited. She thought I was being ridiculous, as usual.

"What is it you're worried about? Her father's there. And the Quileutes"—she sniffed disdainfully—"seem to care for her, in their way."

"I know that . . . " There was no doubt young Jacob Black cared. How I hated that he was free to be with her now, and I wasn't. He was too young to even understand his feelings for her.

"What is it, then?"

"Well, we can never be certain, can we? I mean, anything could happen."

"Nothing's ever certain, brother—in life or in love. You've given your heart to a most capricious human, and you'll just have to live with that." But Alice was never impatient for long. She squeezed my arm sympathetically. "Leave the future to me, okay? Just try to be happy in the now."

"_Try_," she commanded, when I still looked downcast. "Now, come see what I picked up for her in Seattle." _I think you'll be very pleased._

She pulled a little velvet box from her pocket and opened it. I'd already seen the trinket in her thoughts but she was proud of her purchase. She deserved her due.

The simple chain was strung with seven rings, each symbolizing a member of our family. Even Rosalie had grudgingly gone along with this. It was platinum, but Bella didn't have to know that right now.

"It's perfect, Alice."

"This is yours, in the middle." The band was woven with a thin braid of yellow gold. Two hearts, entwined.

"Just perfect," I repeated, giving her a hug. "You did well."

"You should give it to her tonight, with your other souvenirs. Ooh, she's going to love it, Edward. I'm so happy for you!"

"I'll transfer the funds now, shall I?" I went to the computer to settle the bill but she waved me off.

"There's no need. It's a gift from all of us, so I used the Black card."

"But, Alice, I said I'd pay-"

"It's been paid for. Esme's already approved the transaction."

"Alice . . . "

"You're welcome," she quipped. There was no point arguing with her. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes: you just promised you'd try to be happy about the future, and I was going to say . . . "

"You were going to say 'Forget that, because there is no try, Edward. There is only do'."

And I should have been happy. I _wanted _to be. But when Bell and I were apart my mind would wander to dark places, reminding me that there'd be more than just sunny days to separate us in the future. She could fall ill or meet with an accident that Alice hadn't foreseen. One day, her fickle human heart might even lead her away from me. Ultimately she'd die, and my existence, after that point, didn't bear thinking about. But at least that was one eventuality I could plan for. I hadn't spoken about that to anybody but I was already thinking about what I'd do then.

But this was no time to wallow. My girlfriend was coming home and it didn't matter how late she'd be. I could still surprise her. I returned to the shadows and made sure the coast was clear, then entered the dark and empty house by my usual route.

She'd left the window open; I had to smile at that. I vaulted the ledge and landed on the rug at the foot of the bed.

_Mimosa_.

Her scent hit me with the force I'd come to expect. My pleasure; my pain—it suffused every inch of that small room—flowing into my dry veins and setting them alight. I hugged my arms around my chest, steadying myself as the fire raged and burned itself out.

It was always like this when we were separated. It lasted only a few seconds, but I was very glad she wasn't here to see me like this—shivering, swaying on the rug like some junkie jonesing for another hit. Just one more hit.

One would never be enough.

But now I knew why her scent affected me. I wished Carlisle had been able to tell me about the blood singers when I'd first met her, but I understood why he'd been afraid. At least I knew I wasn't a freak—or, no more freakish than most of our kind.

And now I knew she was _my_ singer, she was even more precious to me.

My vision cleared and I could breathe again. Calm again, I looked around my girlfriend's bedroom. She'd lived without me these past four days and I wanted to know about everything she'd seen—everything she'd done. I never wanted to be apart from her again.

I could tell she'd been in a hurry this morning. It was easy to follow her movements by the trail of breadcrumbs she'd left. Her t-shirt and sweats lay crumpled on the floor instead of folded under the pillow; her hairbrush was tossed carelessly on the bed—her phone, too. That explained why she hadn't returned any of my messages.

Her sketchbook lay open on the desk. I flipped back a few pages to see what she'd been working on while I was away and found some half-finished sketches of forest scenery, as well as some new studies of hands. I felt a hitch in my chest, realizing that one of them showed mine and hers, intertwined. Just like the bands in the ring.

The most recent sketch was unfinished and it was the little cactus that sat on her bedside table, transposed on a desert scene. The plant continued to survive, if not exactly thrive, in its new habitat. And there was a new novel on the bedside table next to it—the one about a boy shipwrecked on the South Pacific, marooned with a tiger in the life raft. How many other books had she read this week? If I wanted to, I could go to the shelves and find out . . .

Oh, but I only wanted _her_. How much longer would she be? I lay down on the bed and turned my face into the pillow, breathing deeply, loving the way her natural scent mingled with the aroma of her shampoo. I could almost imagine she was here with me.

But she wasn't. I still had to wait. I turned onto my back and folded my hands behind my head. I _could_ wait: I'd wait for her 'til Kingdom Come. What was another hour or two?

Time would pass more quickly if I could sleep—if I could tune out the eternal white noise of my existence—but the insistent hum of human thought was inescapable. I'd been coming here long enough that I was getting to know the neighbours—or getting to know their thought patterns, anyway. I could tell what film the family in the red house was watching on DVD, for example, and if I listened closely I could hear the soundtrack coming through the walls. All the weatherboard houses on this street were built during an era before insulation was a priority.

There were two people at home in the house on the other side, and neither the woman reading a romance novel in the bathtub, nor her teenage son, playing video games in the basement, were particularly interesting to me.

I went back to the bookshelf and pulled out her volume of Keats' poetry. I had the same one, but a much earlier edition. I still wondered if that poem of his was her namesake . . .

_"If thou didst ever any thing believe,_  
_Believe how I love thee, believe how near_  
_My soul is to its doom."_

It was one of the first questions I'd asked her that she didn't have an answer for. _My mom just liked the name, I think . . ._

Finally_, finally_, I heard engine noise in the distance. It reverberated up and down my spine, generating a sense of nervous anticipation within me that was still so new—so raw. I never wanted this sensation of being in love to end.

The noise grew louder but Chief Swan's thoughts remained elusive. I'd come to the conclusion that they'd always be muffled to me. I often wondered if I should've paid more attention to that quirk of his before I met Bella—would I have been prepared to confront the silent wall of her mind that very first day? Then again, I'd never had anything much to do with him. That wasn't altogether a bad thing: keeping my family's reputation respectable was all part of the cover. And it meant that he approved of me now—as much as he approved of any boy dating his daughter.

As they got closer, I could tell she was very much on his mind. That was the only time I ever heard his thoughts clearly. He was watching her drive—proud of the way she'd handled the truck on the dark, gravel roads coming back from La Push. Could she tell? She kept shooting him quick little glances and blushing when he grinned back.

He had enjoyed the party at La Push that afternoon, though there'd been strife among some Quileute youth. I had no interest in that though; he'd chosen that moment to glance at her again, treating me to the sight of her through his eyes. My beauty. Four days had been far too long.

But his mind was never far from his work. His thoughts still dwelled on the man who'd been mauled outside the mill a few weeks ago. He wondered if Fish and Wildlife had been too hasty in trapping that mountain lion, but he wasn't sure why . . . Dr. Cullen had agreed it was the most likely culprit. And he trusted Carlisle . . .

There'd also been reports of an extremely large black bear roaming in the mountains, but he put that down to campers who'd been eating too much of a certain species of mushroom.

He, himself, was suffering the effects of eating too much rich food. "I can't remember the last time I ate so much," he complained, patting his stomach gingerly.

"Harry does a mean barbeque," Bella replied. She was frowning slightly, concentrating on the road. I wondered if she'd been thinking about me.

"Sure does. Don't think I'll need that midnight snack tonight."

"You don't _need_ it any night." Her eyes didn't leave the road but Charlie liked the way their corners crinkled, just like his did when he smiled.

"Do you think we surprised Billy?" she wondered, a few moments later.

He chuckled. "Probably not."

"Me, neither."

"You _sure_ you had a good time today?"

"Of course I did. Harry's family is really nice. And I liked meeting Jake's sisters."

"You two used to follow them around like puppies when you were little. You probably don't remember that, do you?"

"Did we?" Bella shook her head. "It was nice they could be there."

"Jake was pleased to see you," he said with a grin. My jaw clenched at mention of the boy's name; and I saw that Bella was blushing again. "I think he's got a bit of a crush going on."

"Ugh, Dad. Please. He's just a kid."

He enjoyed needling her, but couldn't help but think to himself that Jacob wasn't just a kid any more. He was growing up fast.

"Leah's a bit of a spitfire, isn't she?" He tried changing the subject. "Don't know where she gets that from."

"She's sad. She's having problems with her boyfriend."

"So I heard." He rolled his eyes_. _He figured the entire reservation had probably heard her shouting at him. _Why won't you just talk to me, Sam . . . ?_ It made him glad that Bella's relationship with me was still at an early stage. He wasn't sure he'd know how to deal with teenage melodrama.

"What about _your_ boyfriend? Has Edward called you?"

"Yeah, I talked to him yesterday." She was telling him the truth.

"Is he feeling better?"

"Uh-huh. All that fresh air . . . really did him good." She was the worst liar in the world, and I hated that she already had to do it for me. I had a lot of respect for her father.

"Well, I'm happy to hear that," he said.

He didn't see her squirm. And his knowledge about my 'health problem' was mercifully vague. She'd fed him the same story everyone believed: that Carlisle had taken us all camping for the good of our health.

They were pulling into the driveway now_. _I watched her park the truck through the thin window curtains. I noticed that one of the headlights looked a little dim.

"Actually, Edward was supposed to be coming back this afternoon," she went on, sounding a little anxious. "Is it okay if I go up and give him a quick call?"

"'Course it is. Just help me get these fillets in the freezer first, okay?" He began pulling large plastic bags out of the flatbed and handing them to her.

"Wow, this is, like, a year's supply of salmon, Dad."

"I know. I think Harry overdid it a little."

"You think?"

"We-_ell_"—the word came out as a grunt as he hauled a bag onto each shoulder—"if the end of the world comes, at least we'll be prepared."

"I'm going to have to look up some new salmon recipes."

He smirked, unlocking the front door. "Maybe your mother's got a few she can share."

"Da-_ad!_" Renée was an imaginative cook but her culinary experiments weren't always successful. "You know, she tries really hard . . . "

They had to make another trip back to the car for the rest of the fish.

"I think I'll work off some of that barbeque with some serious armchair sports."

"Mariners playing tonight?" she asked.

"ESPN's replaying this afternoon's game."

"Um, go team. Hope they scored lots of . . . hits."

"Runs, honey." He chuckled. "Runs."

"Sure." She stuffed her hands into her pockets, awkwardly. "Well, I'm gonna see if I can get a hold of Edward now, I think."

"All right; don't stay up talking too late, okay?"

"Okay." But he hadn't turned the television on—and there was a look on his face that made her hesitate. "What?"

"Nothing."

"_What? _Did Harry say something to you about the Cullens?"

"Of course not. He knows better than to start that stuff with me."

"What, then?"

He'd been thinking about how intense we already were with one another, and it worried him. He wondered how much Renée had already talked about sex.—a subject he fervently hoped they'd never have to broach. He was worried about a lot of things, but he could sense this was neither the time nor place to air them.

"It's nothing. I-I really hope he's feeling better."

"Okay," she said in a voice that indicated she expected him to broach this—whatever this was—again. And he would; he just needed to get himself good and ready.

"Hey, you got any more girls' nights planned with your friends?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know. I don't see them outside of school much now they've all got boyfriends now."

"Oh . . . Well, maybe you kids could double-date, or something." Teenagers corralled together in a public place, under adult supervision, were safe. Not like when they were holed up in her room, just two of them, alone. He knew what teenage boys thought about. He'd been one once himself.

"Maybe." I could tell by the look on her face what she thought of that idea. Then her back was turned to him and she was flying up the stairs, two at a time.

"Edward!" she squealed, shutting the door behind her with a thump. Her hand flew over her mouth as she realized how loud her voice was. "She looked around fearfully but I shook my head, grinning. Charlie had heard her, but he thought she was already on the phone. He was already becoming engrossed with the television.

"You're here!" she hissed, launching herself across the room and into my arms.

"Were you expecting someone else?" I asked, catching her easily. I was becoming used to her exuberance.

"I missed you! _Never_ leave again. Never, ever, ever."

"I won't," I gasped. She was peppering my face with kisses and I couldn't get away. "Wait, wait. Bella, stop." I manacled her tiny wrists in one hand.

"Oh, sorry." She pulled back immediately, concern etched in her brow. "Too much?"

"No. I just want to look at you."

"Oh"—she blushed and looked away—"silly. It's only been four days. I haven't changed any."

But she had. The sun had kissed her cheeks and brought out new freckles on the bridge of her nose. Pretty red highlights glowed in her hair and I just had to touch it. My perfect memory didn't do her justice.

"On the contrary. You've become even more beautiful."

She looked both embarrassed and incredulous, but then the corner of her mouth quirked mischievously.

"Well, you're still just as weird." She freed one of her hands to tuck a cowlick behind my ear. Her expression turned tender. "Lucky I'm good with weird."

She sighed as our lips met—we both did. I felt her sweet breath pour into me, warming my heart like Calvados on a winter's night.

"Welcome back," she whispered against my cheek. My love. She was the singer of my soul and I was very lucky indeed.

I didn't want the kiss to end but soon, too soon, her heart began demanding oxygen. I knew too well the desires that sound awoke in me . . . One of us had to be sensible.

"Don't you need to come up for air?"

"Unfortunately," she panted. "I'd kiss you all night if I could." But she seemed to remember something just then. "Um, hold on, okay?" She grabbed her pajamas and toiletry bag and ran towards the bathroom. "Ten minutes," she promised over her shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere,"

She reappeared in eight, her skin flushed and smelling of almonds, rubbing her hair with a towel.

"Will you help me?" She fetched the hairbrush and sat down with her back to me, cross-legged.

I loved watching the silky strands moving between the bristles, straightening, parting fragrantly then springing back into shape. Soft little coils flowing down her back. She leaned back into its every pass like a cat being stroked. The rhythmic sweep of the brush soothed me, too.

"What have you been up to this week?" I wanted to know everything.

"Nothing much. We did high jump in Gym yesterday. Don't even ask how that went. And I've got your Bio homework. There's a taxonomy quiz on Monday, by the way. I'm sure you'll ace it. Oh"—she gave a chuckle—"Mike and Jessica broke up on Wednesday, but they got back together on Thursday."

"Did they, really?"

"Someone pulled the fire alarm on Thursday, too. We were outside for about half an hour before the all-clear was called. Good thing you missed that."

"Did they find out who did it?"

"No, but Dougie Coupland's the prime suspect."

"That figures." Poor Doug had been trying to clean up his act lately, but he never could get a break.

"But when did you get back?" She turned around so she was facing me. "How long have you been here?"

"This morning," I captured her hands again so I could kiss her wrists. "And not very long."

We both watched the goose bumps rise along her arms. She gave a little shiver, turning to look at me from underneath her lashes.

"Did you have fun in Canada?" She made it sound as if I'd gone to some far away, exotic place.

"It was . . . a productive trip. Carlisle and I took care of some business while we were there, and then we spent a couple of days in the mountains. That was the fun part."

There was no need to tell her about meeting Laurent. I didn't want to frighten her. Or worse-intrigue her.

"What sort of 'business'?" she wanted to know.

"Well, we own some property up there. Every once in a while, we need to inspect it—see if anything needs repair. That's all, really."

"Oh, right." Her brow furrowed and I wasn't sure why. Her next question made me wonder if it she was fretting about the economic inequality that existed between us. "Do you own a lot of property?"

"Real estate is always a sound investment." I tweaked one of her curls, trying to make her smile. It didn't work.

I had a feeling this was not the time to tell her about Isle Esme, or my family home in Chicago—much as I'd like her to see them both someday.

"It's how life is for us, love. Always on the move. We return to our favourite places every few decades and start again." She knew all this, but she looked even more troubled. I didn't know what to do. "Why're you sad?"

"Because one day you're going to move away from here. And I'll never see you again."

So, _that_ was it. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close so I could kiss the top of her head. "I will _never_ leave you, Bella."

"You can't make that promise," she replied morosely.

But she had no idea how tightly I was bound. I was mated to her, in soul if not yet in body. There was no choice for me.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be such a downer." She sniffled, wiping away a tear that had leaked out. "So, you had a good time, then?"

"See for yourself. Carlisle took pictures." I switched on my phone to show her.

"Wow, look at you fly."

"I made a copy of that one for you." I'd made the frame for it, too. "Here: I thought you might like it."

"Thank you. I love it!" And just like that, her mood was bright again. She clasped it to her heart and kissed me, then held it in front of her so she could look at it again.

"It's just great. I'll put it here"—she meant the dresser—"so I can see you, no matter where I am." And she was back on the bed, kissing me. "Thank you, so much."

"I've got something else for you." I grasped the velvet box in my pocket, suddenly feeling nervous. "And I hope you like it." _Please let her like it. Please don't let her refuse out of pride . . . _

"Oh, but I don't have anything for you," she lamented, looking around as if something might magically appear.

"You already gave me your drawing," I reminded her.

"Oh, right. Were you surprised?"

I very much liked the impish glint in her eyes, but this was not the time to let her distract me.

"Yes, I was. But, now will you let me . . . ?"

I pulled the pulled the box out of my pocked and opened it: her jaw dropped and for a moment, all she did was stare at it. Her expression was inscrutable, and I began to panic. Had Alice been wrong? Should I have waited for another time? Then she took it out of the box and began turning it this way and that, watching the metal sparkle in the dim light.

"Oh, wow," she finally whispered.

"It's from all of us."

It was important she understood that. She could accept a gift I'd made, but something extravagant like this . . . Sure enough . . . "It-it's beautiful," she stammered. "I don't deserve it."

I took her face between my hands, willing her to believe me when I said to her, "You deserve _only_ beautiful things."

"Can I help you put it on?"

She obediently swept her hair to the side. Once the ends were clasped, I could see Alice had got it sized perfectly. It sat right below her jugular notch.

Tears glistened in her eyes again. "Thank you so, so much. I'll always treasure it. And please, thank your family too."

"You can thank them yourself. You can come to the house tomorrow, if you'd like."

She nestled her cheek against my chest, sighing. "I've really missed you."

We sank back into the pillow and kissed for a long time. I would've been content just to kiss her to sleep, but she always wanted more. Her soft tongue brushed my lips, searching, seeking entrance . . . my bottom lip slipped between hers and bushed against her teeth, making me think about _my teeth_ and what might happen if . . .

As gently as I could, I pushed her away. "I don't know if we can kiss that way, Bella." What a hypocrite I was. By rights, we shouldn't be kissing at all.

She sat up, hurt and rejection glimmering in her eyes. "But, we can. I _want_ to."

Didn't she think I did, too? She deserved a normal boyfriend who could kiss her properly—one who didn't have to worry about killing her.

"You don't understand. My teeth—they're like razors. And if you cut yourself . . . " I trailed off, helplessly. If she cut herself, there'd be no stopping me.

"Oh."

My poor, trusting angel. She'd never considered that, had she? It was my fault: I'd avoided all discussion of hunting out of fear it would interest her too much. _Oh, we have weapons_, was the most I'd ever said. I'd grinned at her like an idiot that day, hoping I'd somehow still scare her away. Faint hope of that . . .

Myriad expressions crossed her brow: fear; pity; and then something seemed to occur to her. "Well . . . why don't _you_ kiss me, then? I could be good. I'll lie very still."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"We could _try_. If gets too much, you could squeeze my hand or something."

"I could crush it!" This was not going to work.

"What about a safe word, then?"

"A what?"

"We agree on a word that'll be a signal. If one of us says it, then we have to stop."

"Such as . . . ? " It sounded ridiculous to me.

"It has to be something to make you think. Um. . . like . . . when you were human, what was your least favourite food?"

"I don't remember."

"Well, I hate turnip."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Do you have a better idea?"

I had to admit that I did not.

She lay back down and reached for me. "Can we try?" I couldn't help but notice the way her chest rose and fell in time with her quickening breath. "Please?"

Why'd she have to beg? She'd destroyed my will entirely and she knew it.

"Edward, look at me." She took my hand, placing it under her chin so it naturally cupped her cheek. I could feel the pulse under her jaw. "You won't hurt me."

She had such faith in me. I felt every muscle in my body tighten; I was so frightened of losing control.

"It's okay." Her fingers wove through my hair, drifting to the skin at the nape of my neck. She knew it was soothing when she stroked me there.

Her skin glowed creamy-white in the lamplight. So pretty and soft. I traced the line of her jaw with my thumb, letting it slip over the pad of her chin and onto the pout of her lower lip. Her eyes never left mine as she kissed it, taking it briefly between both her lips.

The shock of that touch shot down the length of my body to the very centre of my being. I found myself pressing against the length of her through the blankets, wanting more. This _was_ possible. I'd seen in the minds of my Denali cousins how it was done. With great care, it _could _be done.

Her fingers, at the nape of my neck, pressed insistently now. My thumb slipped off her lip, and my mouth was on her jaw. I knew she wanted it on hers. Inside of it. But, so _dangerous!_

"'Turnip'," she reminded me, just as I kissed the corner of her mouth—and I had to laugh.

"Wait: who's supposed to say it first?"

Her chest rose against mine as she took a deep breath, then, parting her lips, she went very still. She was so very good; she kept so still for me.

The touch and taste and textures were overwhelming at first and I was afraid to explore, gripped by the irrational fear that my tongue might still damage her. And if she had a cut on her gum somewhere . . . No: I would've tasted the blood and it would already be over.

She was here, warm and alive, and she wanted me. She was softness and sweetness and she was my whole world. And I felt the world close in on itself, becoming only that small hot space where her breath passed over my palate, bringing life to my lungs. She tasted even better when we breathed together. I had no idea it would be like this. Tasting together . . . breathing together . . .

She put my hand on her heart. I felt it pounding, alive beneath my dead one—throbbing, pulsing, pushing the blood through her veins. _Ba-dum_. A flush of warmth under my fingers. _Ba-dum_. Against my mouth . . . _Ba-dum_ . . . Her pulse in my head . . . her taste on my tongue . . .

And then there was silence.

She wasn't breathing. Oh, god, she was so still. I couldn't hear her breathing at all!

"Bella?" What had I _done?_

She exhaled in a rush, opening her eyes as I pulled away. "What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry."I was practically sobbing.

"What? Why? Oh, no, no, it's okay. Sshh, Edward. It's okay . . . " She wrapped her arms around me, weaving her fingers through my hair again.

"I thought I'd hurt you." My voice was muffled by her hair—and the pillow.

"No, no. It was my fault." She struggled to sit up a little, taking my face in her hands as she did. "You take my breath away, Edward. You are much too good at kissing."

Even at times like this, she could make me laugh.

"Are you all right?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes. Now I know that _you_ are."

"Was-was it . . . _difficult_ for you?"

"No . . . it was . . . pleasurable." If I'd been able to blush right then, I would have.

Her eyes were bright. Eager. And her expression was more than a little smug. "Hm-mm . . . Maybe we could try it again?"

I looked down at our hands—unsure. But these things took practice, after all. I'd be more prepared next time. I gave her a weak smile. "Maybe, we could."

"Do you need a moment, first?" She lay down, opening her arms, inviting me to rest my head on her breast. What I would give to be able to fall asleep in this soft place, to the lullaby of her heartbeat.

"The safe-word thing didn't really work too well, did it?" she mused after a time. I snorted derisively; I'd panicked before we'd even had a chance use it. "We need a better word than 'turnip', don't you think?"

"What do you suggest?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I'll have to give it some thought."

* * *

She was still awake, well after midnight, and we were talking.

"Did you have a nice time at La Push?" I asked, as casually as I could. Immediately, her wide eyes were questioning. "Your father was thinking about something that happened while you were there this afternoon," I explained.

"Oh. That." She frowned. "I don't know what it is about adults—why they assume that because their kids are the same age, they'll automatically be best friends. I mean, we have _nothing_ in common." I didn't follow, so I just waited for her to continue.

"I had to hang out with Harry Clearwater's daughter, Leah, all afternoon and it was kind of miserable. She's been having problems with her boyfriend." She looked up at me, apologetically. "I guess it wasn't totally her fault. She probably just needed someone to talk to.

"He used to be a bad kid—into drugs and stuff—but he cleaned himself up a few years ago. He and Leah started dating after all that. He leads a youth group now: the Quileute elders want to pass on their traditions, and he's the most serious of all to learn. Leah's really proud of him for that.

"About a month ago, he went on a vision quest. Do you know what that is?" I was familiar with the coming of age ritual. "He's kind of old to be doing it. He's nineteen. My friend Jake says he'll go on one when he's sixteen."

It was obvious that she would much rather have spent the afternoon in Jacob's company than in Leah Clearwater's. There was always a smile playing about her lips when she said his name. I tried not to let it bother me.

"Anyway, Sam's been different since he came back. Leah thinks something happened to him in the woods that scared him, but he won't talk to her about it. He won't talk to anybody, except Old Quil and the elders. Billy's one of them, so he came to the party to pay his respects. She was mad at him for avoiding her. You can see why. Long story short: she made a scene, in front of everybody. He ran out, telling her that if she knew what was good for her, she'd stay away from him."

I frowned. That cut a little too close to the bone. "You said his name is Sam? Sam Ulley?"

She nodded. "Do you know him?"

"I know who he _is_. We've had dealings with his family."

His grandfather, Levi, had signed the treaty with us in 1936, but I actually knew very little about Sam—only that his parents had separated when he was just a baby. He never knew his father. He'd been raised by his mother and grandfather.

She shrugged. "This is all Ancestor stuff. It's not for outsiders to know. That's what Jake told me."

"Hm. He didn't have any problem telling you _our_ secret though, did he?

"That's not fair. He was just telling scary stories to impress me that time. You know that. Anyway, the Quileutes should be allowed to do what they want with their stories. We don't have any right to them; we're the ones that tried to take them away."

I'd heard rhetoric like this before. "Bella, what happened when white people first came here is not your fault. Don't let the Quileutes make you feel guilty for the crimes of others."

"They've never made me feel that way." She crossed her arms over her chest and I knew I'd insulted her again. "I may not be a hundred years old, but I know my own mind. Nobody can tell me how I feel."

Where had _that_ come from? I sat there in chagrined silence for a moment. She looked a bit startled by her outburst, herself.

"I'm sorry," I said finally. "It was wrong of me to assume."

"Apology accepted. Now, can we please talk about something else?"

I stroked her forehead. "Hmm . . . maybe you should get some sleep now?"

"No-o. If I sleep, you'll leave." But her eyes were definitely drooping.

"I won't leave."

"Yes, you will."

"Close your eyes. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?" She demanded through a yawn.

"I promise. Now, sleep, Bella."

* * *

Later, much later, she called my name in the dark.

"What is it, my love?" Was she dreaming?

"Thank you for my presents today."

"You're very welcome." I kissed her cheek.

She snuggled closer and I thought she'd gone back to sleep. But then . . .

"Edward?"

"Mm-hm?"

"When you said the necklace was a gift from all of you, did you mean Rosalie, too?"

Rosalie had made it clear she wasn't happy about being represented, but for Emmett's sake she'd gone along with it.

"She's coming around."

"So, they all accept me now? I'm glad"—she sighed contentedly—"because I did a lot of thinking while you were away."

"About what?"

"In fact, I've made up my mind." She went on as if she hadn't heard me, and I wondered if she really was talking in her sleep. "I've decided."

I waited for her to tell me what decision she'd made, but her next statement was decidedly cryptic. "I'd like another gift from you someday."

"Oh, really?" What could it be? There was nothing I wouldn't give her.

And I had no doubt she was awake now; she sat up and took my cold hands in hers. "I don't want us to be apart, ever again."

"We never will be."

"I want to be with you forever," she said. "I want to be like you."

* * *

**~~Thank you for reading.~~**

**A/N:** I ready to post this chapter late last week, but comments from my pre-reader, Malianani, led to a re-write of a certain scene. "You can't fade to black _there!_" she said, and she was right.

And before I go, a question: What's the name of the book that's on Bella's bedside table?

**Until next time, ~W**


	31. Stalemate

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters, but Edward in My Head is mine and nobody else's.**  
**Many thanks to my beta Lezlee and to my pre-readers, ChloeCougar and Malianani.**

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**Playlist Pick:**  
All I Want is You – U2

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**STALEMATE**

"_I don't want us to be apart, ever again," my Bella told me that night._

"_And we never will be," I vowed naively, never dreaming she'd ask for the one thing I couldn't ever give her. _

"_I want to be with you forever . . . I want to be like you." _

I'd hoped against hope that she'd never say those words to me. But she clasped my hand to her cheek and I knew she was so very earnest. A gift! She thought that immortality was a gift! She may as well have twisted a dagger into my heart.

Necessity had made me into a very good actor, but it was impossible to keep my true feelings from her for long. She already sensed I was struggling. She drew back a little.

"What's wrong?"

I freed my hand and placed hers in her lap. Deliberately, I folded them together, taking a deep breath to help myself gather courage.

"Bella, you're very tired."

My voice was cold—an iteration of living stone—but when I looked up it was clear she saw straight through my stern façade. Just like she always did.

She made a scornful face. "I am _not_."

It would be futile to attempt to convince her otherwise, but I had to try. "Yes, you-" She just crossed her arms and looked away with an angry exhale.

"Please, love," I entreated, patting the pillow. "Come and lie down. This isn't the time to talk about it."

"What better time is there?" She clasped the rings of her new necklace between her fingers and held it out to me.

"Oh, Bella . . . " I didn't know what to say.

When she'd asked if the gift meant that my family accepted her, I hadn't denied it. But she'd drawn a long bow by assuming it signified we'd someday make her one of us. Or had she? I hadn't meant to mislead her. I'd given her the necklace because I loved her.

Did Alice know this was going to happen? Probably, I thought resentfully. But she'd bought the necklace anyway. Why did she insist on forcing the issue? What point was she trying to prove? Because no matter how many times Bella and I discussed her becoming a vampire, it degenerated into the same, circular argument. I just wanted to put an end to it.

I sighed deeply. "It's not going to happen, Bella. It _can't_."

Her eyelids fluttered and I prayed that the tears brimming underneath wouldn't start falling. They were more potent than her kisses and I didn't stand a chance against them.

They didn't fall—not yet. But I knew they soon would. _Jesus Christ_. I'd told her how hard it was. She knew all about the pain. The burning. The unrelenting, eternal thirst. Hadn't my warnings been enough? Why would she still want to go through with it? As if I needed to ask.

"But, I love you. I just want to be with you. Always."

"And I love you. More than anything. You're the very best part of my life." I wanted her to know how much I meant that. She _was_ my life.

"Oh, so are you. God Edward, I can't imagine life without you anymore. And I don't want to." She pounded her fist against her heart in emphasis. I just think we need to be equal . . . to love each other, don't you?"

If I admitted it to myself, there was a part of me that agreed with her. Lord knows I'd imagined her as an immortal. It was hard to believe that perfection could be improved upon, but yes I did want to experience making love with a partner who was in every way my equal. But for her to lose her life just for that . .

"You're perfect as you are," I said. "I don't want you to change."

"I'm clumsy. And weak."

"You're beautiful and intelligent, and completely selfless. You are more courageous than anyone I've ever met."

She scowled, unconvinced. "But I'm getting older, every day. I won't always . . . be this attractive to you."

How could she even say that? "Your spirit is what I love most about you. That will always be the same."

"Even when I'm old and grey, and I've lost my marbles?" Now she was just being ridiculous. I glared at her. "And I won't be around forever."

No, she wouldn't. I bit back the wave of pain that rose at her comment. "My love for you will never change." I managed to sound stubborn when I said that. Barely.

"I don't understand."

"I'll remember every moment I spend with you as long as I exist, and that happiness will last me forever." The first part of that statement was true, but _forever_ was a relative term. My world would become bleak and meaningless when she died. I knew I wouldn't be able to go on afterwards.

_You can always change that . . ._ the voice of temptation whispered to me. I shook it off; lately, it sounded irritatingly like Alice.

"Oh, Edward. That's so sad."

"It's my choice. And I don't necessarily see it that way."

"What about _my_ choice?"

"Vampirism isn't a lifestyle, Bella! It's not something any of us chose. And I refuse to inflict this condition on you."

She was shocked. "Is that how you see yourself? As a disease?"

Yes. We were exactly that. Our venom spread through the bloodstream like a _were_ parasites, just like the Quileutes said.

She looked away and I could smell the imminent tears. "I wouldn't ask you to do it, you know," she whispered, biting her lip. "I know you . . . couldn't."

I smiled sadly. "My family wouldn't help you either, Bella. They know how I feel and they'd never go against my wishes." Actually, Alice was the only one I'd directly forbidden from doing so. "But you're right: if I was the one to do it, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from killing you. But it doesn't matter which of us does the deed, I won't be responsible for taking your life."

"That's not how I see it. If you let one of the others . . . _help_ . . . we'd be together forever. In love forever. And"—she added craftily—"you wouldn't want to kill me anymore."

"Bella, I've never _wanted_ to kill you. Believe me, if I did, you wouldn't have made it out of class that first day."

She blanched, and I thought that I might finally be getting through to her. I decided to appeal to her sense of reason.

"All right: say it does happen for some reason. Even if you survive—and you might not—there's no guarantee you'll even remember me afterwards. And if you do, you might very well hate me for it."

"I could never hate you. You're the most important thing in my life. How could I ever forget you?"

"Alice doesn't remember anything about her human life."

"I'm willing to take that risk."

"The change will alter you irrevocably. What if you're not the same person?"

"Is that what you're afraid of?"

"It's one thing, yes."

"I don't believe that would happen. I know you're the same person as you were before Carlisle changed you. The same good person."

How could she know that? It was only since I'd met her that I'd started remembering anything more than fragments about Edward Masen. Most of what I knew about him, I'd gleaned from the diaries I'd kept. I'd been little more than a child, then. Incomplete. The same as Bella would be if she was changed now. Forever seventeen.

"Like I said, I'm willing to take the risk," she repeated. She was so young. How could she be so certain? I cursed my inability to hear her thoughts.

"But I'm not . . .It's not just me." I took her hands and squeezed them gently. "There's a bigger picture here that you're not aware of, love. Your friend Jacob told you about our treaty with the Quileutes, didn't he?" She nodded. "It's very specific: we're not allowed to bite humans, whether to kill or transform. To them, it amounts to the same thing, and in that respect I agree." She scowled at that.

"To break the treaty means we'd go to war with them. They'd be no match for us, of course—our strength and speed is superior"—and their spirit warriors had long since died away—"but they'd reveal our existence to the other humans in Forks. That would break vampire law."

"Vampires have laws?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

"Not very many. And only one that's regularly enforced."

"What is it?"

"Can't you guess? We have to keep the existence of our kind a secret. We don't make spectacles of ourselves, and we don't kill indiscriminately. You remember Carlisle's friends in Italy—the Volturi?" She nodded. "Well, they have a police force of sorts whose job it is to ensure that humans don't find out about us . . . Let's just say that they take their job very seriously."

"So, you see, I broke the treaty too. Just like Jacob Black."

"Technically, you didn't. I figured your secret out before you told me." And she had an answer to the dilemma of the treaty as well. "I could leave Forks with you, then—when you move on."

"You'd leave your friends behind? Your parents?" The only reason I entertained her argument was so she could figure out for herself how impossible it was.

"My mother doesn't need me anymore. She has Phil: she'll be alright."

Renée may have been a frivolous person, but I doubted Bella really appreciated the depth of her mother's love. Did any child understand that?

"What about your father?" And suddenly she was much less certain. "It's not like you'd get to say goodbye to him or have any contact afterwards. Could you let him mourn you like that—for the rest of his life? Because it would be safer if he believed you were dead than if he knew what really happened."

"Because of the Volturi?"

"I was actually thinking about you. It takes newborn vampires about a year to learn to control the bloodlust. What if you happened to be around your father and you lost control?"

"I had no idea . . . " The tears brimmed over again and began flowing down her cheeks. She didn't try to stop them.

I gathered her in my arms, rubbing away her tears with my thumb. "So you understand why I can't do it."

"Yes." She sniffed. "But it doesn't stop me from wanting you to. Oh Edward, it's just so unfair!" she exclaimed.

"I believe you're the one who pointed out that life isn't always fair."

She gave a mirthless laugh. I could tell she was worn-out.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No, stay. I'll have bad dreams if you're not here."

Her sleep was fitful and she had bad dreams anyway. I felt guilty that they were because of me, but my mind was made up and nothing would change it. Unfortunately, hers was too.

I left that night, resigned to the fact that this argument would always hang between us, unresolved. As long as she was human, it would inevitably raise its head again. If only something would happen to make her see what was best for her. If only I could stop wanting what was best-and worst for me . . .

* * *

Alice was pensive when I went to see her later on. I found her sitting on the limb of an old hemlock that grew outside her bedroom window. She said nothing when I sat down beside her—just shuffled over to give me room. We watched the stars appear briefly and then fade back behind the cloud cover.

"You knew, didn't you?" I never took my eyes off the sky. "You knew she'd ask."

"I knew there was a possibility." She turned to me with a sad smile. "She made up her mind after you kissed. I tried to warn you but . . . you'd turned your phone off."

There was pride in her smile now and it embarrassed me. I'd turned my phone off because I hadn't wanted any interruptions; I knew very well my sister's penchant for eavesdropping on people's intimate moments.

"Surely you must've considered it?" she remarked. I shook my head; it had never even crossed my mind. "Oh, dear."

"Do you still see her as one of us?" I just had to know.

"I see lots of things, brother. The future's always in motion."

"Rosalie will have a field day when she finds out about this." She'd predicted that Bella would demand immortality sooner rather than later, and that it would break my heart.

"I don't plan on saying anything to Rosalie." Alice shot me a determined glare. How I adored my fierce little sister at that moment. "Do you?"

"No," I said.

"So what she doesn't know, she can't use to hurt you. Or Bella. Right?"

"You're right about that." I admitted, relieved.

Turning her face back to the skies, she extended a fist out to me. A brief beam of moonlight lit up her smile as I smacked her fist with my own, and turned my eyes to the heavens as well.

* * *

March went out like a lion that year. The storms were particularly intense but once they'd passed, spring took firm hold. And as the days grew longer and milder, my relationship with Bella flourished. We spent lazy Saturdays at our meadow. I loved the delighted look on her face as she'd rush in to the very centre and take stock of the new blooms that had appeared since we'd last been there.

The down side to the improving weather was that my absences from school were becoming more frequent. We coped with the inconvenience as best we could; if nothing else, I could leap through her open window after sundown and stay with her until she was asleep. But those drizzly mornings when the rain set in made me rejoice. Most days I drove her to school, but occasionally I turned up early so we could walk in the rain.

Her father got used to arriving home in the evenings and seeing us together, our heads bent intently over our homework. My rapport with him was awkward but as long as we kept our discussions focused on sports and automobiles we got along very well. In fact, he genuinely seemed to like me.

He suspected our studiousness was probably a little _too_ innocent but he never told her what was on his mind. Occasionally, he'd murmur that she never spent much time with her girlfriends anymore, and I knew he wondered if it was normal for a relationship between two young people to be so intense. Once, when I was in Bella's room, I heard him on the phone with her mother, discussing it. I got the gist of their conversation from his responses.

"I knew she was seeing somebody!" Renée seemed more concerned with the gossip than her daughter's emotional wellbeing. Or perhaps, that's just the way her voice came across in the echo of Charlie's thoughts. "What's he like?"

"Quiet. Smart, like you'd expect. He's the doctor's kid. Uh, good-looking, I guess."

"Of course," she said. "Oh, she never tells me anything."

"Okay, but is this _normal?_"

"She's never had a boyfriend before. And she's your daughter, Charlie. Still waters run deep."

That didn't seem to reassure him very much; he continued to fret in silence.

Thank goodness for Alice. Chief Swan adored her. She and Bella were great friends by now and one day she invited herself over after school and introduced herself to him. Of course, he couldn't resist her. Alice was delighted to finally have a real friend to call her own. She'd even sit with us in the cafeteria at lunch from time to time.

"So, I need to ask a favour," Bella announced one Tuesday when Alice was with us.

"What is it?"

"Well, I'm thinking of having some kids over one night next week . . . "

"Like, a party?" Alice was eager.

"A _get-together_," she said. "My dad's been bugging me to spend more time with my girlfriends—sorry," she added, glancing apologetically at me. "And the only way I can do that these days is if I invite their boyfriends, too." My sweet introvert didn't look as if she enjoyed the prospect very much. "Jess and Mike said they'd come—and Angela and Ben. Tyler and Lauren probably will. But the only day that everyone can make it is next Friday." She frowned, stabbing her fork into a pocket of dry ravioli on her plate. "Problem is, my dad's got a date that night and he won't let me have it then unless there's someone around to chaperone."

"Doesn't he trust you?" Alice asked.

"He trusts _me_. He's just not sure that the other kids won't invite people he'd rather not have in his home. You know how it is: someone tells two friends, someone else tells two friends . . . In his line of work he's broken up a lot of parties that have gotten out of hand."

I thought he was worried about nothing. As if anyone would misbehave at the home of the chief of police! I had a feeling that a raging party was not his real concern—rather, the raging hormones of unsupervised teenage couples.

"I could be there," Alice volunteered, startling both us. "Your father knows me now—he trusts me. No, no, I'm serious," she insisted, waving off Bella's protests. "Who better to keep an eye on you young whippersnappers that our single and very responsible friend—who happens to be considering a career in law enforcement?"

"You told him _that_?" I asked.

"I may have let it slip when I introduced myself. What?" she demanded when I smirked at her. "It's a possibility. I have a lot of career options in my future. Let me talk to him," she said, turning to Bella.

"She might be on to something," Bella said. "And, my dad doesn't know about Jasper."

"There you go," Alice said smugly.

"Wow, thank you, Alice." She gave her a shy smile. "You're sure you don't mind?"

On the contrary, she was thrilled. "Not at all. It's not often I get to go to a party."

"A get-together," Bella repeated.

"Of course." She was moving ahead already in full-steam planning mode. "Do you need a hand picking up soda and snacks?"

"I can help with that," I offered.

"Oh, thanks. Actually, we can kill a couple of birds with one stone. I need to do some grocery shopping anyway. I'm uh, going to buy my dad stuff for his dinner date."

"Oh, yes! Alice was all-ears. "Tell me about your dad's date. Who's the lucky lady?" Bella's father had always been adamant about being a terminal bachelor, so this development was rather surprising.

"Her name's Mary. She's an EMT." I knew who she was. Carlisle worked with her at the hospital. Like Charlie, she was in her late forties and divorced. "They've been friendly for a while. Last week, she finally invited him for supper. He said 'yes', provided she let him bring the food."

This was certainly an interesting development: her father had never shown much culinary inclination.

"Wow, he _must_ like her then," Alice mused. _Human relationships are just so interesting aren't they, Edward? You just never know what'll happen next. _I rolled my eyes.

"What?" Bella asked, looking from one of us to the other, astute as always.

"Nothing."

"I think it's great that your dad's dating, Bella," Alice said warmly.

She shrugged, noncommittally. "He's not the most social guy. I guess it's good that he's trying to get out more." She chuckled. "He must take after me."

"You," I said, squeezing her shoulder, "are perfect, in every way."

_Ugh, is this what being nauseated feels like? _Alice wondered.

And so it was a few days later that I accompanied Bella to the Thriftway to help her purchase groceries and other supplies. I pushed the cart, following her lead as she went through the items on her list.

"I might as well pick some things up for my dad while we're here," she decided. That was kind of her; Chief Swan was more nervous about his impending date than she knew.

"You can't go wrong with pasta, can you?"

"I suppose not."

I looked around at the unfamiliar and unappetizing products stacked on the shelves. Grocery stores didn't exist when I was human, and from the journals I kept back then, I'd learned that my family employed a maid who shopped at market for us. These days Esme bought groceries every couple of weeks to maintain our human façade. She donated her purchases to a different food bank every few weeks.

I had no interest in the food, of course. Moreover, I was distracted by the way Bella's curls fell back as she reached for a packet on the top shelf, revealing her shapely neck.

"I could have gotten that for you." She just shrugged—she was reading the instructions on the back of the packet. "I think your father's capable of boiling noodles for ten minutes and then testing for 'doneness'."

She said nothing—only swatted me contemptuously with the package before dropping it into the cart.

"What else do you need?" I asked.

"Hm-mm . . . pesto, I think. And some stuff for salad."

"What about dessert?"

"Oh, I don't know. I wanted to pick up some fruit and ice cream, but it's not berry season yet, is it?"

"Not for a couple of months, no." Suddenly, I found myself very much looking forward to the late summer, when the blackberry bushes that grew in the vicinity of our meadow produced their fruit. I imagined the pleasure on Bella's face when I presented her with the berries that I'd picked, and how she'd savour them when I fed them to her.

"I'll get the ice cream anyway," she decided. "Vanilla?"

"I'm under the impression that women like chocolate better."

She grinned. "Yes, they do . . . "

My phone buzzed when we were in line for the checkout.

"Was that Alice?"

"Yes. Everything's all set for tomorrow. We'll come over right after school."

"Wow, she doesn't mess around. What did she say to him?"

Alice's message had been to the point, but I had no doubt Chief Swan must've been putty in her hands. Like the rest of us, she was nothing if not charismatic.

"I'll help you carry that," I said, taking the bag of groceries off the counter.

"I can manage; it's not heavy." Though she demurred, she allowed me to be chivalrous.

We'd just exited the store when a commotion on the sidewalk a few doors down attracted our attention. Or rather, the commotion is what attracted Bella's attention; what I noticed was the sour, mouldy smell. Almost like wet dog. A pack of wet dogs. The boisterous teenagers playing hacky-sack were Quileutes.

I was just thinking that I'd never really paid attention to how big those young men were—some of them were as tall and muscular as Emmett—when one of them called to Bella. His face still wore the soft roundness of childhood and his long hair was tied back in a ponytail.

"Jake!" She was delighted to see her friend, but nevertheless she turned to me with concern.

"It's all right," I assured her. I had as much right to be in Forks as they did. And these young ones wouldn't know who or what I was. Most hadn't bothered to learn the legends about us. Few believed them.

"Do you want to come and meet my friend?" she whispered.

"I'd better not." Even so, I was curious. I wanted to know what she saw in him. "You go ahead. I'll wait for you."

"'Kay." She looked disappointed, but she returned his greeting warmly as she walked towards him. "Hey," she said, pushing her fist into his forearm.

"Hey." He patted her shoulder and glanced over it at me. "Who's your friend?"

"Um, that's Edward. He goes to my school . . . " She did not tell him that I was her boyfriend. It was hurtful, but it was the right thing to do.

Jacob Black peered at me curiously. He gave a sniff and looked for a second as if he'd encountered an unpleasant aroma, but then seemed to dismiss it.

From where I stood, slouched against the wall of the shop-front, I was able to observe my rival openly. There was nothing in Bella's manner that led me to believe she felt anything more than warm friendship for the boy. And he returned her amity, but other feelings simmered beneath that he was barely cognizant of. I knew it wouldn't be long before understood what they were. And when he did, would he act, I wondered? Not if I could help it. He was human—and still a boy. He'd be no match for me.

He was showing off now, trying to impress Bella in front of the others. He grabbed the hacky-sack and began kicking it behind his back from one heel to the other.

_Look at this pretty girl, _his smug grin said, for all to see_. She's _my_ friend_. The shiny new toy.

_Mine. Not yours. _

It was difficult to watch them joke with one another. I had to turn away and as I did, I became aware of another Quileute youth standing apart from the main group. Sam Uley watched over the other boys like a sentinel. He was older than the rest—more man than boy. And he knew he was being watched, too. He turned deliberately and glared at me with cold, black eyes.

His lip curled in disgust. He never took his eyes off me as he moved to stand protectively in front of his companions. In another moment, Bella would be out my sight. A couple of the other boys instinctively grouped themselves around him in a semi-circle. Closing in. I began to panic. I could do nothing here, not without revealing what I was.

"Bella," I called, low and urgent, but I knew she'd hear.

"Just a sec'." She was distracted—her voice high and bright as she laughed at some comment Jacob had just made.

Sam Uley's head swung around at the sound of my voice, his gaze abjectly hostile. One of the older, bigger boys picked up on his tension and glanced at me too. He looked back at Sam with a question in his eyes.

_Filthy motherf- . . ._ The epithet was in Sam's mind as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud.

I shook my head, wondering for a split second if I'd heard correctly. But of course, I had. Sam Uley, who Bella said was studying the old ways—and who now took them so seriously he'd begun teaching them at Youth Group—was shaking with rage. The spasms of his body were as clear to me as the violent imagery racing through his mind. Images of death and fear. A pursuit through the woods at night. Was he thinking about the legends—the past? _His past?_ I couldn't make sense of it.

He winced as if the light of the overcast afternoon was suddenly too bright for him to bear, and he seemed to have trouble controlling his breathing.

"Dude, what's up?" the other boy asked, coming over to stand beside him. Abruptly, he stopped and fanned his hand in front of his nose. "Ugh. You have a bath in Old Spice this morning? You stink!"

"It's not me that stinks," Sam growled, and the other boy turned to look in the direction of his hateful gaze.

"_Bella_," I called again and this time she paid attention. I lifted one of the grocery bags briefly to remind her about the ice cream inside. I didn't want to alarm her.

To my dismay, she tried to wave me over. "Come and meet Jake," she mouthed. I shook my head. "Come on," she encouraged, "it's okay."

I shook my head again and she sighed. "All right; I'm coming."

_Don't you touch her!_ Sam's shout rang out in my head. _You have no right!_

"Here I am." Bella smiled reassuringly as she came to my side and tried to take one of the bags from me. I snatched it away brusquely, transferring it to my other hand.

"What's up?" she asked.

"We have to go. Now."

"Why? What's the problem?"

I could practically feel the hackles rising on the back of Sam's neck as I took her arm. But he was bound by the treaty, too.

"It's time to leave," I said firmly.

"Okay, _okay_." Though unimpressed, she followed my lead without a fuss.

I turned and looked back as we rounded the nearby corner. Jacob Black was annoyed that his prize had been taken away. And Sam Uley continued to stare with the same knowing, hostile black glare. As we passed out of his sight, I heard his voice in my head once more:

_I know you, Cold One. I know what you are, and I'm not afraid of you._

* * *

**A/N:** So, Bella asked for immortality and Edward refused outright. That wasn't really a surprise, was it? And he's right that this won't be the last time they'll have this argument. In canon, Edward made it clear that he despises what he is and doesn't want Bella to be like him. But I always felt that the boy did protest a little too much. Surely, there was a part of him, deep down, that wanted her to be like him all along? There had to be. Of course, he'd never admit it. What do you think?_  
_

And what about that Sam Uley? Something strange is definitely afoot in the Quileute nation. Of course we omniscient readers know. Or do we? The AU plotline thickens...

**Thank you for reading.  
**


	32. Shadow

**Stephenie Meyer owns these characters, but Edward in My Head is mine, all mine. **

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_"Hello? Is there anybody out there . . . ?" (Woodlily peeks in to FFNet apprehensively)_

_**A/N:** I sincerely apologize for not updating this story in eons. I completely lost my 'joie d'écrire' last autumn. Once the writing turned into work, it ground to a halt entirely. It's been a long road back, but I've got this story drafted to its end and I don't want to leave it incomplete.  
_

_This chapter has been through so many dead-end drafts, it's not even funny. I would like to thank my lovely betas/pre-readers, Miaokuancha and InspiredbyLemons for holding my hand through the last two—yes, two. I wouldn't be posting now without them.**  
**_

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You might want to re-read some of the previous chapters to get a sense of the current AU story arc (I had to!). At the end of chapter 31, Edward and Bella encountered a hostile Sam Uley on the main street of Forks. As they departed, Edward heard Sam's thoughts and they were troubling:

_I know you, Cold One. I know what you are and I'm not afraid of you . . ._

**Playlist Pick:  
**Four Seasons in One Day – Crowded House

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**SHADOW**

Sam Uley's antagonism didn't bother me much at first. It was nothing new, of course. Most of the Quileutes went to the medical centre in Port Angeles instead of letting Carlisle treat their ailments. Sometimes the old ones muttered curses in their language when they saw me, or mothers crossed their children to the other side of the street.

As long as the treaty was intact we tolerated the bigotry. We'd always upheld our end of the bargain. The same couldn't be said for them; Jacob Black could have started a war when he told Bella scary stories at La Push that day. His youthful incredulity left him luckier than he knew.

The other young Quileutes were as embarrassed by their superstitious elders as Jacob was and they mostly ignored us. But that wasn't the only reason Sam's hostility caught me off guard. There was darkness in his mind, something he wouldn't talk about to his friends. He _couldn't _talk to them about it. Maybe he didn't fear me, but he was very much afraid of something. What had happened to him while he'd wandered the woods all alone?

Bella told me he'd been learning the old legends, but it was more than that. I could tell he really believed them now. What had changed?

The very sight of me had caused him pain.

It had been like that when we walked into Ephraim Black's village for the first time. The gathered members of the tribe shielded their eyes when they saw us. Some even cried out and fell to their knees. And it was the same three years ago, when we met the elders to endorse the new treaty. The four men waiting in the clearing winced like the misty cliff top had suddenly been lit with floodlights the moment they laid eyes on us.

That night I found out how we looked to them. Our bodies seemed to radiate energy but nothing subtle or luminous, like an aura. No, the light they saw pierced the darkness like shards of glass. Most humans could see us glitter in sunlight, but I realized the Quileutes saw us as we truly were. We were wraiths. Existing in the world yet not a part of it.

Sam Uley's great-grandfather had been at that meeting, and now I thought about it that was the last time we'd seen him alive. It was hard to believe that ancient, withered creature was the same brave we'd met back in the Thirties. A series of strokes had ravaged his body, leaving him unable to speak and unsteady on his feet.

But his mind was still sharp. And his veins still quickened with the blood of the Spirit Warrior. Oh yes, he remembered us well.

He'd witnessed the original treaty—the one that Ephraim drafted with Carlisle. He and Old Quil's father refused to sign it at first but the chief wouldn't tolerate their bluff. We could have wiped out the entire tribe if we'd wanted to and they all knew that. But watching the three of them transform into giant wolves and bound into the forest to argue it out is a sight I'll carry with me 'til the end of time.

On that cold spring night three years ago, Harry Clearwater and Billy Black brought Levi to the place where Old Quil waited, cradling the treaty parchment in a leather pelt. As we approached, one of them started a chant that the rest quickly took up. They were letting us know we were permitted in this place by the grace of their good will. They liked to believe that, I suppose.

Quil unrolled the treaty over a tree stump. There were no speeches, no declarations of intent. Everybody knew what to do. Alice and Jasper had been briefed and, as the newest members of our family, they signed first. We all followed in turn until Levi made his own mark with a trembling hand, right next to the one he'd left all those years ago.

Quil took back the parchment, folding it over a roll of tobacco that Carlisle had given. He held the bundle gingerly, as if it carried contagion instead of a gift of good faith. Acknowledging it, he spoke for the first time.

"We hoped you would not come back. We've had peace here for a long time."

"You'll continue to have it," Carlisle said. He meant it.

"We're bound by the treaty," Quil recited, inferring, of course, that we were too. Then he reached down for the sealed bucket at his feet.

Their gift to us was bear's blood. Accepting it reverently, Carlisle replied, "As are we. You have our words. And our marks."

Quil's nostrils flared. He didn't doubt my father's sincerity, but like his own father and Levi Uley before him, he believed everything about this arrangement was wrong.

"Maybe you _are_ different from the Cold Ones who came before. But you're not welcome here and never will be."

Time doesn't heal all wounds. Why should we have expected it to?

We were regrouped and waiting for them to leave when old Levi, gathering the little strength he had left, shuffled his withered body around to face us. It was almost painful to watch.

His cloudy eyes turned hard and bright as he leveled them at me. He remembered my gift.

_Tell your maker this, boy, so he hears it loud and clear . . . _

Emmett, ever the stalwart, saw my expression and tensed. Jasper, too, poised for action.

_What's happening? Tell me!_

The set of my jaw bade them hold fast.

Black and Clearwater moved to help walk Levi back to their vehicle, but he shrugged them off. Regaining his balance and taking a deep breath, he crossed his arms over his chest.

_Where your kind goes, evil follows; it's only a matter of time. Your presence here will only bring suffering._

* * *

If I'd been human, I would have sworn that a noise had woken me.

But I wasn't human and I couldn't sleep.

I'd been dreaming though, of an impossible future when Bella and I could love one another as equals. It was a fantasy I tortured myself with almost every time we lay down together and it was not the best way to while away these empty hours. If I'd had more sense, I would've brought some of my books. I'd read all of hers, many times over.

She was sleeping now, with her head on my chest. And she was so _warm_. It always amazed me how someone who complained so bitterly about the cold and the wet could generate so much body heat.

I hated the way my icy body just sucked it away. Sucked the life out of her.

She didn't see it that way, of course. We had the same argument every night.

"I'm not cold," she'd protest as I piled the blankets around her.

"You'll get a chill." I knew full well she'd ignore me.

"But I want to be close to you."

Tonight, she'd wriggled an arm out from under the covers and walked her fingertips down the inside of my forearm, humming a tune about a spider as she did. The song was over once her fingers reached the crook of my elbow and she lifted my arm to inspect the skin there.

"No goose bumps," she said, sounding disappointed. "Why don't you have goose bumps? Why don't you, Edward?" she persisted, when I didn't respond.

"Because I'm dead."

I don't know why I said that.

My human reflexes were dead and gone, but my body still reacted to the fiery ache of her touch. I could feel the very whorls of her fingerprints.

She recoiled with a little gasp and I knew I'd upset her. In the next instant, I heard her eyelashes fluttering. Oh lord, was she starting to cry? Shamefully, I turned away.

She wasn't crying. "You're not," she said, taking my chin between her fingers, trying to make me face her. But I wouldn't.

"Edward . . . Edward, look at me." Her soft voice was a command I had to obey. And when I did, there were no tears in her eyes. Only compassion.

"You're not dead, not to me. You're _not_." She was so earnest. If she believed that, it was because I only felt alive when I was with her.

"You just have, um . . . " And she thought about it, trying to suppress the mischievous smile working at the corner of her lips. "Poor circulation."

My relief exploded in a snort of laughter and I could feel her laughing too as I clutched her to me. My precious, gracious girl; I kissed the crown of her head with gratitude. She reached up to weave her fingers through my hair, smoothing the cowlicks down. Only _she_ was allowed to do that.

And I tucked a lock of hair behind her ear so I could see her neck, tracing my finger down its milky length to tickle the base of her throat. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the squeal that leaked out.

When she was sure her father hadn't woken, she raised herself up on one elbow. "I can warm you."

"Bella . . . "

"Yes, I can."

She sat up, taking my hand in hers and pressing our palms together, spreading the digits until they looked like mirrored starfish then folding them back as one.

"Remember how it felt when you touched me?" She kissed my fingers, bringing them to rest against her neck again. "The first time, in our meadow?"

"Of course I do."

"And you listened to my heart beat?"

She moved my hand to her breast as if it was the most natural thing in the world. In another time and place, it would have been.

"You'll always have my heart," she murmured.

And through the fabric of her t-shirt, it felt like I held it in my hand. I wanted to squeeze but I was afraid of hurting her. She wasn't; she arched her back, pressing against me as we kissed. Her pulse beat through my skin, thundering in my ear. Churning that fragrant nectar meant only for me.

I wanted to taste it.

I kissed her mouth too roughly. She just moaned and clutched me closer.

This was not safe. What I wanted—what we both wanted—was not good for her.

_I _was no good for her.

Her face was bleak as I jumped back, ready to leap out the window. Her hands trembled, fluttering helplessly as she reached for me. I felt my knees buckle and then I was back on the bed, letting her pull me close. She stroked my cheek, smoothing my hair like she was calming a frightened animal.

"I'm so sorry!" she whispered, rocking me against her heart.

I should have been the one to apologize; it was all my fault. I wasn't strong enough. Wasn't good enough.

It was a very long time before she finally fell asleep.

As I watched her, I couldn't help thinking of my waking dream. It was never clear if I was human or she vampire. I liked to think it only mattered that we were equals, but what if Alice's vision of my immortal beloved really did come to pass?

Bella didn't think she'd be giving up anything to become like me, but would she still be _mine_? Would her skin still smell like flowers?

Would she curse me for dooming her to an eternal half-life?

I couldn't imagine never again hearing the sound of her heart. It comforted as much as it caused me pain now. It was a good pain, like a needle to a vein. If it fell silent, I'd miss that pretty piece of flesh. Too much to go on.

Hours later, I swore I heard-no, I _felt_ something. Or more to the point, someone. The feeling of being watched was unmistakable, and it was all over me.

I wriggled my arm out from under her shoulder, worried she might waken, but she just rolled over with a little whimper. Whatever I'd sensed hadn't disturbed _her_ slumber. Then I was at the thin curtains, scouring the darkness. Listening to the wind whispering through the pines.

Whispering . . . singing . . .

Was it coyotes again?

Wolves?

The wolves were long gone.

What, then?

There was no trace of scent. Nor echo of thought.

Raindrops pattered onto the roof, shaken from overhanging boughs. The moon shone through a parting in the clouds and something moved in the dense underbrush at the edge of the forest.

A fox flicked its tail insolently as it crossed the lawn.

_Son of a . . . !_ I exhaled impatiently. I would've sensed an intruder. And vampires don't 'hear things', not even one like me, who hears everything.

Why was I so uneasy?

Bella shifted and mumbled something about muppets.

She was safe.

Yes, she was. Curled into a foetal position with one arm outstretched into the empty space of bed. Her chest rose and fell in the rhythm I'd come to love. Her heart beat on. I would fight to my last breath to keep it beating.

Was it my own guilt that roused me? Catholic guilt from an upbringing I no longer remembered?

Her father snored obliviously across the hall. The bedside clock marked endless seconds but brought us no closer to dawn.

I still swore I'd heard singing.

"What is it?"

She was the only one able to startle me. In the dark, her irises were black, her skin translucent. A twinge of guilt shot through me because she'd looked very much the same in my selfish dream.

"It's nothing, love. Go back to sleep."

The little worried furrow appeared between her brows.

"I thought I heard something, is all."

"Come back to bed," she entreated.

I wanted to, but- "I should probably go home and get ready for tomorrow."

"It _is_ tomorrow."

When I didn't move, she patted the empty space of bed beside her. "Please?"

"All right . . . just for a little while."

* * *

Alice was waiting at the treetop entrance to my room when I arrived home at dawn.

"Things are messed up," she said without preamble.

"Full moon?" I quipped, kicking off my shoes. But she was in no mood to be teased.

"I've seen some things . . . A _few_ things . . ." She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "And nothing at all."

It was the 'nothing' that really seemed to bother her. So, why was she speaking in riddles? It wasn't like her.

I waited for her to continue but she just sighed, pressing her fingertips into her temples. It was times like this I didn't envy her gift. I lived in other people's heads but she lived in their futures. At least I could tune the voices out if I really wanted to.

"Show me."

I sat down, dangling my legs over the doorway into the leafy air. She joined me when I motioned her to but she kept her thoughts turned inward. I knew better than to pry until she was ready to speak.

"I wish you didn't think so badly of yourself," she finally scolded. "Everything gets turned around and it's no good. No good at all."

Ah, so that was it. She couldn't read minds, but somehow she'd picked up on my bleak musings earlier in the night. They'd skewed her latest visions of the future.

"I don't understand why you'd ever leave her. You love her."

"I-I'm not going to leave." I felt a knife rake my heart at the very thought of it.

"It's what you do. When things get tough, you run."

All right, so I had a bit of a track record in that regard. But had my thoughts really carried through that far? She seemed to think so.

"Sometimes I think she'd be better off without me," I muttered.

"Do you, really?"

Her eyes were bright and fierce as she showed me what she'd seen. Bella, sobbing on the high-backed chair in her room, her arms wrapped around her knees as if to hold her body together. And me, in some desolate, treeless place. Mourning beside a weathered tombstone.

"Oh, Alice. Thinking something doesn't make it so," I said gently. She, of all people, should know that.

"It hurts to see those things."It was almost an accusation.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. If she knew the truth, it hurt to think them too. But I couldn't change my nature.

"She's good for you. Never forget that."

"What else did you see?"

"It's what I couldn't see." She scrunched up her face. "Like there's a wall and I'm not tall enough to see over it. Don't you _dare_ laugh!"

I wouldn't dream of laughing at her now.

"You _are_ going to leave," she vowed. "You'll leave after Bella's party tomorrow night and I can't see where you're going."

Alice was still tetchy when we drove to Bella's the next evening but it wasn't all because of me. She'd wanted Jasper to take part in her latest human experience, too. That is, until a premonition at lunchtime changed her mind. I was sitting next to her in the cafeteria when it happened.

Mike's car would be found afterwards, flipped in a back road ditch. His and Jessica's bloodied bodies were posed like they'd been thrown through the windshield.

And we'd leave for Alaska in the middle of the night.

Jasper was so gracious when she told him not to come.

"Better safe than sorry, right?" His smile only faltered a little, but I could feel the relief raining off him. And the shame pouring down.

He chucked her chin. "There's still Prom."

"Yes," she said, but she wasn't at all certain of that any more.

She'd never held any of his real slip-ups against him. No, I was the one who'd done that. Every single time we'd had to move . . .

I understood his struggle so much better now.

Alice didn't want to talk about it. She had nothing more to say about her other premonition either, much as I pressed her. Why on earth would I just run off? She couldn't tell me and it didn't help at all that her foresight seemed to have run up against a brick wall.

"Maybe you should talk to Carlisle," was all she'd say.

"Talk to him about what?" He was working late and I wasn't about to interrupt him without good reason.

"Nothing's going to happen to Bella? Or her friends?" I verified.

She gazed fixedly into the distance, trying once more to see. I could understand why humans found it so disconcerting when her eyes glazed over like that,. Some of her teachers thought she had a seizure disorder.

"They'll be fine." She scrubbed her face like she was tired. "And it's not like that at all."_ Look, just drop it, okay?_

"You're the one who brought it up."

Near the turn off to Bella's street, we passed Chief Swan driving his cruiser towards town. He was wearing his uniform—his brow contracted with worry. He didn't even notice us.

"What's happened?" Alice asked.

"I'm not sure." As usual, I couldn't pick up much from his thoughts. But he certainly wasn't going on the date he had planned.

We were at Bella's porch soon enough and we heard her running to answer my knock. Alice's face relaxed into a fond smile as the door opened.

"We're here!" she announced. "We come bearing snacks."

She gave my astonished girlfriend a peck on the cheek and marched straight into the kitchen, lugging enough super-sized bags of salted snacks to give hypertension to a small army.

Bella just gaped in Alice's wake. My sister did nothing by halves.

"She's very excited," I murmured, kissing the top of her head.

"So I see." She shook her head, incredulously.

"There was no stopping her."

Bella shrugged, resigned. "Well, maybe Dad can take the leftovers to the guys on night shift tomorrow." Her face turned serious. "He had to go into work. There's been some trouble with a biker gang."

It occurred to me that the dead man who'd been found by the mill might have been involved with a biker gang, but I didn't think anything more of it at the time. Bella and I had been apart for several hours and I was swallowing the sight of her. The scent.

"I've missed you," I told her. Her head pressed against my jacket when she leaned into my hug, reminding me of the object I'd stowed in my pocket.

"_These_ are for the hostess."

"Edward, you shouldn't have," she protested as I handed her a small bronze box with a hand-tied satin ribbon. Her blush told me otherwise.

"They're not for guests or the guys on the night shift." I wanted her to enjoy the chocolates when we were alone later on.

"'Kay . . ." Her blush deepened and she looked up shyly from under her eyelashes.

As I leaned in to kiss her, there was a cacophony in the kitchen. A metal something clanged to the floor and rolled across it, coming to a banging halt.

"Bella!" Alice called. "Do you have any more of these bowls?"

"Oh my god, you have to stop her!" she clutched at my sleeve, giggling.

I grinned. "I told you, she's excited."

"She'll destroy my kitchen!"

"Hmm, you might be right about that," I said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "We should probably go give her a hand."

* * *

**Thank you for reading. And thank you all for your patience these past many months. **  
**All the best ~ W**


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